


Compelled

by SlytherPouf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Animal Death, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Compulsion, Death Eaters, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Eventual Romance, F/M, Headmaster Severus Snape, Horcruxes, Loss of Virginity, Marriage of Convenience, Oral Sex, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Rough Sex, Second War with Voldemort, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Shower Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-01 23:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 46
Words: 209,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13305552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherPouf/pseuds/SlytherPouf
Summary: Harry Potter is dead, and the Dark Lord has taken control of the wizarding world. Severus Snape is alive, and must lead Hogwarts the way Voldemort instructs. He devises a plan to save Hermione Granger, but doesn't bargain on being placed under a Compulsion Curse that threatens to destroy them both. They are forced into a strange alliance that leads them to depend on each other for their very survival in the weeks and months post-war, denying their growing desire for one another. Together, Hermione and Severus must race against time, before Voldemort brings the Ministry of Magic to its knees, to save the Wizarding World from the forces of the Dark, but who is still alive to help them?





	1. Prologue / Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, we are going dark on this one. Thanks to FrancisRose and Jess6800 for the prompt, this story is a mixture of things that you both suggested. 
> 
> Not for the fainthearted, so consider this your warning, there is violence, but it won’t be gratuitously graphic. Can’t say the same for the smut, so if you don’t like a healthy dollop of smut, this is not the story for you. 
> 
> I don’t want to say too much without giving away spoilers, but you’ll find all sorts of different and unexpected relationships inside, amongst other nice and not-so-nice things. The first couple of chapters are pretty bleak, I warn you, but do persevere, there's plenty of less-dystopian plot after that to get your teeth into. 
> 
> ** As always, this story is a non-profit making work of fanfiction, and anything you may recognise belongs to the sublime JKR **
> 
> Enjoy.

“Harry Potter … is dead!”

Voldemort’s hideously triumphant voice screamed maniacally around the courtyard and bounced off the tall towers of Hogwarts castle as he entered, flanked by his army of vile Death Eaters, several of whom were viciously prodding a partly-bound Hagrid, who was carrying the broken body of her best friend, his hairy face flushed with pain and remorse.

“No!”

Ginny Weasley could not hold herself, and sprang forth from the crowd of students and staff who had congregated on the front steps of the castle. She ran towards Voldemort, her wand drawn, and he cut her down with one swipe of his wand before she even reached her boyfriend, and her body fell lifeless to the floor. 

“Stupid girl! Harry Potter is dead! He cannot help you! He cannot help anyone here! He is as useless as this witch who tried to save him. Put him down, giant, so everyone can see how the Chosen One has failed them!”

Hagrid tried to lower Harry’s body gently, but Voldemort was having none of it, and used his wand to send Harry flying from Hagrid’s grip, and his body rolled over several times before coming to a halt next to his beloved Ginny. Whatever small hope Hermione might have had that by some miracle he might not be dead, it was crushed when she saw the extent of Harry’s injuries, his neck and limbs at such unnatural angles there was no way he could have survived. 

“How like his father young Mr Potter is!” Voldemort crowed. “Why, James Potter and his wife looked just as these two do now, on that Halloween night so many years ago, both dead by the end of my wand!”

His self-indulgent bleating was interrupted by jet of green light that shot forth like emerald lightning, heading straight towards Voldemort, but Bellatrix Lestrange threw herself in front of it, taking the Killing Curse for the psychotic wizard with whom she harboured such a dark obsession. Bellatrix fell to the ground, not far from where Harry and Ginny lay. 

Voldemort let out a screech of fury, but not anguish, as he searched for the caster. 

Molly Weasley stepped forward, her wand hand extended and badly shaking. 

“You will have no more of my children, Tom Riddle,” she threatened. 

Hermione’s heart broke for her, as Arthur shouted for her to step down. They were well-meaning but ultimately empty words, as there was no way Mrs Weasley would step down, any more than her husband would expect her to. He would stand behind her all the way, for there was surely only one way this would end, for Molly had just forced Voldemort’s favourite lieutenant to sacrifice herself for her master. 

Molly had only just started to grieve for the fallen Fred, when the Dark Lord had taken down Harry, a boy she loved as another son, and her only daughter. Neither of them had any intention of backing away from the confrontation. The only question would be how much agony and humiliation Voldemort would decide to wreak upon Molly before he finally let her die. 

As the heinous wizard cast his first Crucio, raising the motherly witch high into the air so that all could see and hear her screams of pain, a sea of redheads charged forward from all directions to save the woman they loved more than all others. 

Entirely focused on Molly, they paid no heed to the army in front of them, and were cut down from all directions by the attending Death Eaters. The green flashes from myriad wands were fast and ruthless in their executions. 

Arthur, who thankfully did not live to see any more of his children die. 

Percy, who had reached his mother first, hit the ground a few seconds after his father.

Bill, who had attempted to disarm Voldemort and died while his new wife screamed. 

George, who grabbed hold of his mother, only to be caught in the Crucio alongside her before one of the killing curses hit him, dying less than an hour after his twin. 

And Ron, her dear Ron, who had been standing beside her only seconds before, squeezing her hand so tightly that she could still feel the imprint of his fingers, who had gone for broke and sent a Stunner directly to Voldemort’s face, causing him to break the Crucio, and Molly dropped to the floor. She had been forced to watch her final son die before Riddle raised his wand to her. 

“This is what happens to families who defy me … Mrs Weasley.”

Avada Kedavra. 

The silence that fell over the crowd was absolute, both Death Eaters and the Hogwarts army alike, for a whole family had been culled down in less than a minute before their very eyes.

Hermione could only think of Charlie, how he was currently carrying on his everyday life in Romania, not aware of the tragedy that had just befallen his entire family. 

She clenched her jaw hard to stop herself from screaming out. She could not help them now. She could not save them. She could not avenge them, not like this. If she made any move now, she would be laying among that pile of bodies. Her self-control, at this moment, was paramount.

But they would pay. Voldemort would pay. She would finish the job that she, Harry and Ron had started. She swore it right there in the blood of her friends in the Hogwarts courtyard.

“To everyone who can hear my voice, remember this!”

Voldemort had regained his composure after Ron’s stunner to his face, and was now addressing the dumbstruck witnesses. 

“We are about to enter a new age! An age where Magic is Might - and our power shall be recognised and feared amongst non-magical beings. I have control of the Ministry, and now, today, I have control of Hogwarts. This school will now be run as it always should, for those of magical blood only. Severus! Come.”

From his unmoving vantage point on the parapet of the Headmaster’s Tower, Severus Snape had been surveying the battle scene below for hours. Banished to his office by the Dark Lord and forbidden to leave, his life had been kept safe, but at what cost? He feared that his torment, such as it had been thus far, was about to pale into insignificance compared to what was to come. 

He stepped elegantly from the parapet into the air and swirled down into the courtyard with no need of a broomstick, landing next to Voldemort with a swirl of long black robes, like a swooping vampire. 

“My Lord?”

“The battle is won, Severus. Just as we planned.”

Snape surveyed the bodies of Potter and the entire family of Weasleys, cut down in cold blood as they had attempted to save their mother. It had hardly been a fair contest, and was hardly anything to crow victory over. However, the sight of Bellatrix Lestrange’s corpse alongside them gave him pleasure. Good. That witch was a deranged deviant, and better off dead. He merely nodded in response. 

“The school will now be run as we discussed, Headmaster. Begin.”

Snape turned to the assembled students, their uniforms torn and blood-stained, their faces etched with the raw pain of defeat and in sheer terror of the madman that now stood in front of them. He looked at his staff, the professors who had fought so valiantly to assist Potter and to protect the children. He believed that some had been evacuated via the Hogs Head, but the vast crowd around him suggested that number had been small. 

“You are to return to your common rooms,” he began, keeping a close eye for any murmurs of dissent. “You are not to leave them until you are instructed to do so, whilst the Great Hall and other affected areas of the school are returned to their original states. Staff, you will assist with this.”

“What if we don’t want to?”

The strident tones of Professor McGonagall shattered the tense silence. He lifted his chin and looked his own former teacher straight in the eye.

“You will comply, Minerva, or you will be killed. That is your choice to make.”

In the most uncharacteristic move he’d ever seen from her, she shut her mouth. 

“Now. Muggle-born students should meet in the Transfiguration classroom, which I believe is undamaged. These students should not have been here this year, but I have reason to believe that some of you,” he suggested, his eyes passing over Hermione Granger and Dean Thomas, “have infiltrated the school. You will not be staying at Hogwarts, since it is the decision of the new Ministry administration that students without proven magical heritage may not be educated here.”

There were cries of “Dirty Mudbloods!” and “Thieves!” from the army of Death Eaters, and he was forced to wait for their obscene shouts to die down before he could continue.

“Once all the Muggle-born students present are assembled in Transfiguration classroom, Professor McGonagall will advise you what further action will be taken in your case. I caution you not to attempt to leave the school grounds. Now, move. Immediately.”

Minerva stared at him with pure loathing as the students began to turn and head back into the castle, many of them shooting fearful looks over their shoulders at the dead bodies, and at the Death Eater army. There were a few quiet pops of Apparition as the final members of the decimated Order of the Phoenix left the area, he didn’t quite see who, other than a flash of light blonde hair that indicated Miss Delacour was still alive. 

Severus had lowered the wards around the school during the battle in an attempt to allow reinforcements to enter, but these had been forcibly taken down by the rampaging army of Death Eaters. The grounds of the school would be littered with the bodies of forest-dwellers and Hogsmeade residents alike. 

Voldemort saw them Apparate away, and immediately began to raise new wards around the castle - dark, complicated barriers that would be all-encroaching. 

Hermione was on the top step of the castle when a commotion made her turn back. Neville Longbottom was the sole student left facing Voldemort and the Death Eaters, the courtyard now strangely empty, the cobbled stones covered with the bodies of Harry, the Weasleys, and Bellatrix Lestrange. 

Neville had pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of nowhere, and was shouting at Voldemort as if he were suicidal, pointing the sword and swinging it ineffectively towards Nagini.

Nagini! Harry had told Neville to kill the snake – not telling him why, or how important it was. Neville was clearly determined to fulfil his mission, and as the giant snake reared up and her open jaw flew towards him, he made a brave attempt to stab the enormous reptile. 

Hermione had to turn back as soon as she saw Nagini clamp her fangs around Neville’s throat, wrenching him to the floor alongside his friends. 

Holding her hand to her mouth lest she vomit where she stood, she headed for the Transfiguration classroom. Where she would go, or what would be done with her, she had no idea. It was the dawning of a new age, an age where the Dark Lord ruled the world.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No!” screamed McGonagall. “There must be no more murder at Hogwarts!”

Hermione followed the crowd of defeated students through the Entrance Hall, where the scenes of battle were all around them. The floor was covered in blood and debris, and there were bodies – dead bodies everywhere. She glanced in to the Great Hall as she passed it, as the huge room was being used as a hospital for the injured and as a place for the deceased. 

She had been in there only an hour before, supporting Ron as he cried for his brother Fred, watching Remus Lupin as his heart broke beside the body of his dead wife, unable to help her dorm-mate Parvati as she’d begged Madam Pomfrey to save her best friend Lavender after the werewolf’s attack. So much senseless waste of life, and for what? 

An unmasked but unfamiliar Death Eater prodded her in the back to speed her on her way, they all knew who she was, she heard the whispers.

"Potter’s Mudblood …"

After climbing many staircases that were unusually stationary, perhaps they too had been dumbstruck by the night’s events and were too petrified to shift about mischievously in their normal manner, lest they too be blasted apart by the invaders, Hermione arrived at the Transfiguration classroom, as instructed. She would have been a fool to keep running. 

She had a brief thought that she wished she’d been standing nearer to Fleur, Remus and Kingsley and Apparated away with them, but could she really have left everyone here? Her best friends lay dead in the courtyard, she would not leave their bodies to the Death Eaters’ mercy. She would find out what was in store, and then she would fight against it. 

The few surviving members of the Order were no doubt regrouping, coping with the decimation of their number and would be planning too. None of those witches and wizards would give up fighting against the dark, not whilst there was still breath in their bodies. They could do no more here at Hogwarts, today. If they’d tried, they would have been another body on the hard stones of the courtyard.

As she entered the classroom to find Professor McGonagall in a state of high anxiety, flipping through the school record books and deputising house-elves to Apparate Muggle-borns out of the castle before Snape arrived, Hermione realised that as much as she wanted to fight, she was grossly outnumbered by the size and brutality of Voldemort’s army. 

“Miss Granger,” McGonagall called as soon as she walked in, “Miss Granger, assist me please. We need to remove all Muggle-borns from the school, immediately. I am trying to ascertain who has parents still alive that they can return to. The number of students is not great, since those without provable magical heritage were not permitted at Hogwarts over the last year, as you know, but several snuck in to fight for our side in the battle.”

Dennis Creevey was seated at a desk in a state of shock. Hermione had last seen him crying over the body of his brother, Colin, in the Great Hall. Neither of them should have been here, they were too young, and as a Muggle-born Dennis was now at immediate risk. Hermione jumped to attention, snatching up another leather bound screed of parchments that were the school’s records, and began to copy McGonagall, finding places for these students to be evacuated too, and fast. 

A seventh-year Hufflepuff, Orla Roach, was already doing the same, and Dean Thomas was keeping watch at the door for approaching footsteps of either more scared students or the heavy footfall of Death Eaters. All three looked at one another and their determined expressions said the same – We will be the last to leave. 

-xxx-

Not long later the door of the Transfiguration classroom crashed open, making them all jump, and Professor Snape stalked inside, clad in his usual head-to-toe black, and flanked by a dozen Death Eaters. The guard was hardly necessary since there were only herself, Dean, Orla and Professor McGonagall left in the room, having drawn a blank on where the three of them could go. 

Hermione had removed her own parents to safety via an Obliviate and a one-way ticket to Australia, and both Orla’s parents and Dean’s mother had been killed when Death Eaters had raided their homes. 

Both had been on the run during the last year when they had been banned from Hogwarts. Hermione had heard Dean that night in the forest, with Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell – how he had survived after their deaths she had no idea. 

Through a hissed conversation that had punctuated their search through the record books, Orla had told Hermione that she had hidden in plain sight, immersing herself in the Muggle world, taking a job in a shop and renting the flat above it with her wages, living from hand to mouth, but had returned to Hogwarts to be of whatever use she could in the final battle. 

Hermione had not seen Professor Snape since he had run out of his office the night he killed Dumbledore, growling at her and Luna to help Flitwick, who had collapsed, he told them. Since then it had become obvious that Snape had stunned Flitwick to keep him out of the way whilst as he joined the fray – but not for their side. 

The sour wizard looked exactly as she remembered, his black hair long and lank, his oddly-expressionless black eyes taking in the room, yet not focusing on anyone in particular. His skin was as pale as ever, but more lined, especially around his mouth which was set in its usual severe slash of disapproval. She was scared. If Snape was capable of killing Professor Dumbledore in order to be made Headmaster there was no telling what he would do with a trio of homeless Mudbloods, surplus to requirements. They now counted for less than nothing in Voldemort’s new world. 

The accompanying Death Eaters filed in and arranged themselves so they intimidatingly took up most of the room. No one spoke. It was as if they were waiting for something. Or someone.

Shit. 

She had not expected the Dark Lord himself to enter the tiny classroom. Just as her mind processed what was about to happen, Voldemort swept into the room, bringing with him an aura of terror and insanity. It was as if the air had chilled around them and he surveyed the room with his merciless, reptilian eyes. She had never been this close to him. 

For a long while he did not speak, only stepped delicately around the room, his eyes leisurely casting over the three students and the old Gryffindor Head of House. 

“I was under the impression, Severus, that more Mudbloods than this had found way their back into the school?”

“As indeed was I, My Lord. Minerva, should there not be more students here?”

“There were a few Muggle-borns that managed to enter the school in order to fight, Headmaster,” McGonagall bit out, clearly wanting to wrap her wand around Snape’s neck. “However, apart from these three, all were killed in the attempt.”

“I believe this to be true,” Snape answered. “I myself saw many bodies of un-uniformed students during my inspection of the Great Hall. These would be the Mudbloods, who would not have been wearing uniform. They cannot be accounted for since they were struck from the registers at the beginning of this school year.”

He looked at the giant ledgers Minerva had in front of her, and prayed that she’d had the good sense to score out all the names of the Muggle-borns she had managed to save. She must have done. 

“Are these three of age?” piped up Corban Yaxley, a Death Eater and corrupt Ministry official. “If they are, we need only to transport them to the Ministry where they can be dealt with by the Registration Committee, who will deal with their theft of magic appropriately.”

“I wonder,” Severus answered, “if it would not be more prudent, My Lord, to keep the three of them here at Hogwarts? It would be a great example of your benevolence if you were to allow them to complete their NEWTs, and once they are qualified, they can be used in your further service. There is three months until the end of the school year, so they will have to work hard to prove themselves worthy of you, since none of them have been in school since last year.”

“What a load of centaur shit, Snape,” Yaxley called out. “The whole point is to eradicate the Mudbloods, not give them special treatment!”

“Quiet, Yaxley,” commanded Voldemort, in a soft voice that belied the power he held over everyone in the room. “I am not sure where it has come from, but I find myself interested in your suggestion, Severus. Like it or not, our world is polluted by the stench of their filthy blood. Perhaps containment and control may indeed be better than eradication.”

Severus said nothing, but gave a single nod to express his gratitude at the Dark Lord’s consideration of his idea. No person in the room appeared to be breathing, least of all the three Muggle-borns whose fates currently lay in the hands of an unhinged psychopath. 

“Let us experiment with these three. If they can be brought to heel, if their stolen magic can be used for my purposes, then it could provide me with previously untapped sources of power. Corban, I do not want them taken before the Registration Committee at this time. As you are no doubt aware, I do not need to seek your permission, but as a token of Lord Voldemort’s generosity, I will gift you one of these Mudbloods to … amuse and divert you whilst you are at Hogwarts.”

The sleazy smirk that spread across Yaxley’s face made it clear that the boon he had been granted erased any objections he might have been about to voice. 

“The blonde,” he answered, immediately. “She can warm my bed on the nights I am here in your service, My Lord.” 

Hermione’s eyes widened in horror. It had seemed as if Professor Snape was attempting, in a strange way, to help them, but this was a curve she had not anticipated. Looking across at Orla and Dean, she had no doubt that the looks of terror upon their faces was mirrored on her own. 

“Severus, you surely cannot condone …”

“Minerva, I have told you once,” Snape interrupted. “You are to comply with the instructions you have been given. My brothers here will be teaching at the school from this point on …”

“Those thugs teaching at Hogwarts? Over my dead body!”

“If you do not desist, it will be over your dead body,” he retorted, smoothly. “Now. Each of the Dark Lord’s valiant soldiers will be given a teaching position, in which they will be supported by the existing subject teacher. This is to ensure that the students are given no … inappropriate information. Professors will be supervised by their counterpart at all times whilst in role.”

Professor McGonagall’s face curled in disgust, but she seemed have decided that it was prudent not to say any more. Yaxley had sauntered over to Orla and was crudely groping her breasts, as if appraising goods at market. 

“You are pleased with your boon, Corban?”

“Oh yes, My Lord. Most pleased, indeed and I thank you. I will teach this Mudblood to know her place.”

Orla Roach was a few inches taller than Hermione, with hair so white-blonde and eyes so blue that she could have been a Malfoy. Hermione did not know her well, since they’d never had any lessons together, but she always seemed to have friends enough, and had played Chaser for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team since her third year.

Rather than being dragged before the Muggle-born Registration Committee, Orla had been given the chance to return to school and qualify, but in order to do so, she was going to have to submit to this foul excuse for a wizard who sought to debauch her body and subjugate her mind, to bend her to Voldemort’s will. 

“You can’t do that!” shouted Dean, who had remained silent since Snape had entered the room. “You can’t keep her as some kind of sex slave, you dirty pervert. Get your hands off her!”

He then made the grievous error of slapping Yaxley’s hands away from where they were pawing Orla’s shoulders, his righteous anger and Gryffindor chivalry distracting him from what was sensible at that very moment. Yaxley had drawn his wand and cut Dean down with an Avada Kedavra before had pulled Orla three feet away. 

“No!” screamed McGonagall. “There must be no more murder at Hogwarts!”

She drew her wand and fired into the crowd of Death Eaters, taking down three with well-aimed, debilitating hexes. The old professor did not have the black heart to murder though, and Severus was forced to simply watch as Voldemort drew out his wand and sent a vicious body bind and silencing charm to this stalwart of Hogwarts. Her tall body fell ungracefully to the floor, and there was a sickening crack as her head hit the stone floor of her own classroom. 

Miss Granger and the blonde Hufflepuff had backed to the far wall of the classroom, clutching one another for support. 

“Alas, the dear professor did not know when to keep her mouth shut. And it was not for the want of you warning her, Severus. Perhaps, when we are finished here, you will warn her that next time she cannot hold her tongue, I shall remove it.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” he replied, and the words burned in his throat, although he thought Minerva was lucky that Riddle hadn’t simply obliterated her. He needed her to teach, that was why – she had been saved by her own skills. 

“Now that the opposition is attended to, let me return to the far more pleasurable matter in hand. Yaxley, go and reclaim your Mudblood, and instruct her in how she may be of service to me whilst she receives the boon of being able to study at Hogwarts, despite her heritage.”

The bulldog-faced Yaxley strode over to the girls and yanked the blonde from her friend and out of the door, no doubt to begin his sordid instruction straight away. The girl looked terrified. 

“Then we have the final matter of this girl here.”

“Harry Potter’s Mudblood, My Lord,” interjected Dolohov. “She has been travelling with him this last year, her and the blood traitor Weasley.”

“Harry Potter’s Mudblood? You must be quite distraught at the recent loss of your friends. How grateful you must be to have this chance of remaining here, in this hallowed seat of learning.”

To Snape’s surprise, Granger answered the Dark Lord. 

“I am, Sir. I understand I am lucky to be given this chance to take my exams here.”

She bowed her head in a gesture of gratitude. 

What was she doing? This little Gryffindor did not cower in fear, had not fallen prey to anger and emotion, despite the carnage she had just witnessed in here, during the battle and throughout the slaughter of her friends in the courtyard? 

Voldemort laughed. He actually laughed. 

“Well, well, that I did not expect. Perhaps your Headmaster is right, it may be easier to bend you to … our way of thinking than I had first thought. I confess myself impressed at your response. You will be a fine prize for one of my most loyal servants.”

The Death Eaters began to jostle for position, practically salivating over the firm young body of Miss Granger, a body that had grown ripe and womanly since he had last seen her. These animals would take that youthful body apart, as well as breaking her spirit and crushing whatever semblance of a plan that she might have secreted inside her formidable mind. There was no other choice, he could not willingly hand her over to one of them. 

“I want her.”

“You, Severus?”

“I am the Headmaster of this school. Miss Granger here is a top student, intellectually gifted and magically powerful, despite her blood status. There is none but me who could contain and mould her, if she is to remain here and complete her education.”

He kept his face impassively neutral, and was impressed to see that Granger was doing the same. Was she playing the same game? He had no idea. There was a general rumbling of dissent amongst the Death Eaters, but he was convinced that Voldemort would grant him this. What’s more, all those bastards knew it too. 

“Once again, your suggestion holds merit. Very well. As recognition of the loyal service you have provided within the walls of this school, and the work you have before you, I shall grant you also this boon, Severus.”

“You are too generous, My Lord, but I gratefully accept. Come here, Miss Granger.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she walked over and stood by his side. There was something that looked awfully like hope in her eyes. If this child thought he could protect her, she was badly wrong. He could only do his best to protect her from the filthy hands of his vile comrades. 

“Go to Gryffindor Tower. Arrange yourself so that you are ready to start studying when lessons recommence. I shall send word when I require you, and you are to attend the Headmasters’ office immediately you receive such a summons. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

She turned to leave, but her escape was thwarted when Voldemort bid her to halt, then turned around to face his puppet headmaster. 

“I am not entirely convinced that you fully appreciate the boon I have granted you, Severus. Allow me to assist you in making the best use of your prize.”

He drew his wand and incanted over the two of them. Snape felt the cold fingers of the dark spell course through him, it seemed to gather pace and expand as it travelled down his body, finally popping in a painless explosion somewhere deep in his gut. 

Looking at Miss Granger’s physical reaction, she had obviously felt the same dark magic, and it would have had more effect on her, since she’d not been exposed to the Dark Arts for most of her life, as he had. 

He knew exactly what the Dark Lord had cast upon them both.

A compulsion curse.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They’re letting me back in to Hogwarts. I don’t trust their reasons why, but it seems as good a place as any to be. I have nowhere to go now, anyway.”

Hermione had no need to give the password to enter Gryffindor Tower, since the Fat Lady had been ripped from her frame and the portrait hole was hanging open. She climbed through, to be greeted by a sombre group of fellow lions who were congregating in the common room. 

Seamus Finnegan leapt from his seat and threw his arms around her, and clutching her tightly to his strong chest, and she finally allowed herself to cry. He was followed by Parvati Patil, who moved over to join them, and the tough Irishman extended an arm to include her in the comfort, also. The three of them had just lost every one of their year group in a single night. 

Lavender Brown, a fellow seventh-year, had been the first to fall, overpowered by the vicious Fenrir Greyback. Harry, Ron and Neville, all needlessly slaughtered in the courtyard. And now Dean. 

“Seamus,” she sobbed, “It’s Dean, he …”

He stroked the side of her face, pushing her hair back from where it was sticking to her tear-stained cheek. 

“Voldemort?”

“Voldemort. Dean was trying to help Orla, you know Orla Roach, in Hufflepuff? He didn’t even given Dean a chance, he … he just cast it, the killing curse.”

“At least it would have been painless, Hermione,” he replied. “Fucks sake, what the hell is happening to the world?”

He pulled the girls close against him once again, all of them finding strength and comfort in each other. 

“We never give up, right?”

“Never,” she echoed. 

“Never,” added Parvati, but without as much conviction as Seamus and Hermione. 

“They’re letting me back in to Hogwarts. I don’t trust their reasons why, but it seems as good a place as any to be. I have nowhere to go now, anyway.”

“That’s good news … I think,” Seamus said, “although I don’t trust those bastards, not one single inch.”

“None of us do,” Parvati agreed. “Hermione, do you have things? School uniform, books, everything?”

“I have books,” she replied, shaking the beaded bag so the thump of dozens of books could be heard, “but not the rest.”

“We’ll share out quills, equipment and parchment. Lavender had plenty of uniform, we can use a sizing charm to make it to fit you. There’s no other way you can get clothes, we have no choice, and she’d want you to have it, I know she would.”

They gave Seamus a tight hug and walked together up to the small dormitory that belonged to the Gryffindor seventh years. Since last September it had only housed Parvati and Lavender. Now it would be home to only Parvati and Hermione. 

Parvati began pulling out Lavender’s school uniforms, and the room was soon a sea of scarlet and red as Hermione began shrinking them to fit, especially around the bust. Her old bed was still in the dormitory, and she began to empty the beaded bag that had been both her wardrobe and store cupboard over the last year into her old armoire and on to the bookshelves. She took rather more care of the books than she did of the clothes. She’d mostly be wearing her uniform anyway, doubting that excursions to Hogsmeade would be approved under the new regime, and if they were, they’d be unlikely to include her. 

She was prepared to live the next few months as a second-class citizen, an alleged thief of magic, a filthy Mudblood. All these were preferable to being dragged before the Muggle-born Registration Committee and having her wand stripped from her and being imprisoned, or worse. At least she would be receiving some form of education, with the potential to pass her NEWTs, despite there being only three months left of the school year. She would work and study harder than she’d ever done in her life. 

And then there was Professor Snape. Headmaster Snape. She had not been at Hogwarts under his tenure as the head of the school, and knew him only as her Potions or DADA professor. How did he lead Hogwarts? She wasn’t sure she was too keen to find out, especially as it was clear that Voldemort kept Snape in his pocket.

Why had he claimed her? What did he want with her? 

He had not pawed her as Yaxley had done to Orla, in fact, Snape had barely looked at her, let alone met her eyes with lascivious intent. He had indicated that he might summon her to his office, but had given no indication of the frequency or nature of these encounters. She supposed she would find out soon enough what the plan for her was. 

What spell had Voldemort cast over them just before she had left the Transfiguration classroom? She had never heard that incantation before, nor recognised the complicated wand movements that he had made using his long, thin fingers. She had felt the curse hit, and clearly it was a dark curse because of the unsettling feeling it had given her as it took hold. It had run down her spine like someone was trickling freezing water down her back, and then shot around her body, almost feeling like it was getting bigger, before it seemed to burst inside her belly. It hadn’t hurt, at all, but it had been an utterly strange and unpleasant sensation. 

She wondered if Professor Snape had felt the same thing, because he had remained standing straight and impassive, his body had not jerked in reaction as hers had done, and his face was as neutral as ever. 

After the initial sensation, absolutely nothing had happened, and Snape had repeated his instruction that she should return to Gryffindor Tower, and Voldemort had not protested this time. It was very, very odd, and she had a strong feeling that this was not the end of it, and that exactly what the curse had been would become clear to her in time. Since it had been cast from Voldemort’s wand, it was unlikely to be anything good. 

-xxx-

Dinner had been served in the common room, and students had not been permitted to leave. As Hermione ate the first decent meal she’d had in a very long time, she remembered the last food she’d had was the bread and cheese that Aberforth Dumbledore had given them when he’d dragged them from the streets of Hogsmeade and into his pub as the Caterwauling Charm had threatened to expose them. 

How could that have only been one day ago? It felt as if a whole lifetime had passed. 

Sitting here in the Gryffindor common room, without Harry, without Ron, without Neville or Lavender or Ginny or Dean was just so very wrong. It had without any doubt, been the most horrendous twenty-four hours of her life. 

Shovelling steak and kidney pie into her mouth – despite her distress, her stomach was running on empty, she wondered how on earth the house-elves had managed to order themselves enough to produce dinner, with all the destruction and calamity that had been wrought around them. 

Through the portrait hole, which was open to the corridor outside due to the Fat Lady’s portrait hanging off at right-angles, they could see Death Eaters patrolling the corridors, vanishing the portraits rather than repairing them, but magically replacing broken flagstones in the walls and floors. 

The Gryffindors wondered aloud what else might be happening in the more damaged parts of the castle. 

The Entrance Hall, the place that had seen the densest area of fighting, had been all but destroyed, they had all seen it. The Great Hall was full of the dead and seriously injured, the maze of corridors had suffered patches of damage as individual duels had been fought the length and breadth of the castle. Nobody even wanted to mention the courtyard, piled up with the bodies of their dearest friends, or the castle grounds that were littered with the fallen from both sides. 

There was nothing to do but wait until morning to see if they were called. 

-xxx-

After a surprisingly peaceful night’s sleep, Hermione awoke to the familiar clanging of the morning bell, indicating half an hour for the students to rise, wash and dress and be in the Great Hall for breakfast. For a split-second, in that blissful half sleep before her brain was fully awake, all was well. 

For the briefest of moments, she believed it was just a normal morning at Hogwarts – lessons would follow breakfast and the day would progress much as every school day always did. Ron would soon be hoovering up the bacon and toast, Harry would be trying to persuade his wild hair to lay a little flatter and cleaning his glasses, and she would be trying not to spill pumpkin juice on whatever book she was reading to prepare for the next lesson. 

And then, reality hit. 

There was no Ron, no Harry. Her closest friends in the world had been murdered by Voldemort and their slain bodies had lain in the courtyard at the mercy of the cold night air. A sob rose and choked in her throat. 

Parvati heard it and leapt from her bed and into Hermione’s, hugging her tightly. They had never been the best of friends, but tragedy overcame all of that. 

“It’s ok. Sshh. We can do this,” Parvati crooned, trying to be reassuring. 

The girls dressed quickly, Hermione feeling most uncomfortable wearing a dead witch’s uniform, but she’d had no choice. They walked down the stairs and met Seamus in the common room, along with a few Gryffindor sixth years. 

Walking down to breakfast, they could not help but gape in astonishment, for the Death Eaters and accompanying professors had not been idle since the students had been banished to their respective common rooms. 

All traces of battle damage had been mended, all debris removed, and the corridors were pristine. The only difference was that every portrait was missing, frames and all. The stone walls were completely bare of any animated oils, only the inanimate tapestries and cloth wall-hangings remained. Voldemort or Snape must have ordered the removal and probably destruction of anything sentient. 

The Entrance Hall was even more surprising, for it had been restored exactly to its original state, as if the fierce battle the night before had never taken place. The tables were laid for breakfast in the Great Hall, as they always were.

But, the dead, the injured? Where were all the bodies? Her empty stomach threatening to retch, she raced to the front doors and yanked one open, running into the courtyard – terrified of what she might see, but also equally as terrified of what she might not.   
It was empty. 

Harry, Neville, the Weasleys and Bellatrix Lestrange were not there, their bodies were gone. 

The courtyard looked completely normal; pillars and columns that had been smashed to smithereens last night were repaired and standing where they should. There were no bloodstains on the cobbles, no weapons or broken wands strewn around. What had been done with her friends?

“I would suggest, Miss Granger, that you do not wish to know the answer to that question.”

She whirled around at the smooth, measured statement, delivered in a quiet voice. 

Snape. 

He was standing in the entrance of the huge door she had left hanging open in her haste to get outside. For a short moment, she felt glad to see him, a curious little pop of happiness in her gut that she quickly dampened down as being ridiculous, not to mention dangerous.

“Breakfast is not being served in the courtyard. You should proceed to the Great Hall immediately.”

His tone was authoritative, his expression unreadable. There was no suggestion in either his voice or demeanour that last night he had claimed her in front of Voldemort and the Death Eaters to be his own personal slave. 

Without a word, she obeyed, heading back into the castle, trying her best not to brush against his robes as she walked through door, although it was difficult since only one of the doors was open and he was blocking most of it. She hurried into the Great Hall and sat down with her friends on a much-reduced table of Gryffindors. 

-xxx-

Snape felt the first thrum of the compulsion curse as Granger brushed lightly against his left arm as she passed him on her way back into the castle. Had she felt it too? Her determined walk would suggest not. It had been no more than a brief passing of interest, a light tap on his psyche as she’d made the inadvertent contact with him, but he had definitely felt it. 

Damn Riddle to hell. There would be no doubt that the effects of curse would multiply, compelling them both to seek each other out, to force them to engage in acts that they would never have contemplated with one another. His only hope was to bear the curse out for the next three months until the end of the school term, and then she would no longer be near him, exacerbating his symptoms. 

And what about after that, Severus?

What would become of Miss Granger in the Dark Lord’s new world? Would he, as a covert member of the Order of the Phoenix, still be responsible for her? Could he keep her safe whilst compelled to take his pleasure from her body? 

Fuck. He had hoped that by claiming Granger as his own, he could keep her safe from the filthy hands of one of the other Death Eaters, covertly advising her of his actions, which she would understand because she was a witch of no mean intelligence. 

But no. Riddle had ‘gifted’ him with the compulsion curse that he had cast over them both, meaning that she would desire him as much as he would begin to desire her. The thought was abhorrent. 

He had never much enjoyed the taste of rape, not after the heady early days of the Death Eaters, but to effectively rape Miss Granger whilst she believed herself to be a willing participant, was particularly distasteful. But, as always, he would do what needed to be done. Hadn’t he always?

He was self-controlled to the point of rigidity, and he prided himself upon it. He would control this. There was no other action to take. 

Entering the Great Hall, he heard and felt the hush fall over the room like a black cloud as he swept up the central aisle to the raised platform that used to be solely for the professors, but had now been expanded significantly to incorporate the Death Eaters who had now been appointed as additional Hogwarts teachers. Each of them would be assigned to a subject, and would effectively tail that professor in all they did, not being clever or learned enough to teach a class themselves. The real staff looked pale and defeated, their eyes full of the hatred that their mouths could not express. 

Seating himself in the Headmasters’ chair, he poured himself a cup of black coffee and took two pieces of toast from the serving platter hovering in front of him. That would be sufficient. He would deputise a house-elf to bring him further food in his office later if needed. That office was now unrecognisable as Voldemort had ordered all the portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses be removed and destroyed. 

Snape had insisted on performing the required actions himself, and had of course not destroyed a single one, instead transporting them to a deep, unknown dungeon, even further down into the earth than his old Potions classroom. Apologising to each portrait as he removed them from the wall, they had expressed their gratitude as he explained that he planned their incarceration in the dungeon to be only temporary. He cast a strong security ward and locking charm upon the dungeon door, and could only hope that was enough to keep the Death Eaters out. Maybe one day the portraits would be returned to their rightful places. 

He refused to converse with either Macnair or Avery, who had been placed to his left and right, and instead glared resolutely out upon the students who ate as if in a daze. The Great Hall was still covered in a large number of cloth wall hangings that included the four giant house banners, but the students had all walked through the bare hallways on their way to breakfast, and would have seen the battle damage magically mended, no doubt they had questions that they would not be allowed to ask. He would not invite discussion. 

Inadvertently catching Miss Granger’s eye from where she sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table, he quickly looked away, for he needed to keep as much distance between them as he could muster, lest he exacerbate the curse. A compulsion would only increase in frequency and worsen in urgency the more contact the two parties had with one another. 

Instead, he swung his glare to the Hufflepuff table to ascertain the presence of Miss Roach, the unfortunate Muggle-born whom Voldemort had ‘gifted’ to Yaxley. 

To his disgust, the girl with the white-blonde hair was sporting a split lip, bruising to her neck, and her already pale face looked drained of all life and colour. She was eating and drinking, however, although she sat a little awkwardly, as if in pain. 

Yaxley had clearly enjoyed taking his fill of her last night, his disgust of Mudbloods not apparently extending to sticking his cock in one. Snape could not be seen to intervene, but he hoped that Pomona Sprout would note the poor condition of one of her Hufflepuffs and take Miss Roach to the infirmary for healing, and a long-lasting contraceptive potion. 

Thankfully for small mercies, Yaxley was not one of the Death Eaters who was due to be stationed at Hogwarts supervising the professors. As Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, his high-profile role at the Ministry would keep him away from the castle for best part of the time. No doubt he would make tenuous excuses to return and interfere with Miss Roach again though, despite the fact he was married with young children of his own. A sexually-deviant pervert, Yaxley would rent those perversions upon the young girl gifted to him outside of his wife’s knowledge. 

At least that would mean for the majority of the time, Miss Roach would be relatively safe here at Hogwarts. Her Muggle parents had been killed early last year on an intentional Death Eater raid, he knew this because he had been obliged to personally slay them.   
Severus had no idea with whom the young witch had been living since or how she had survived. Merlin knows where Minerva had evacuated the other Muggle-borns to, but no doubt she would have been thorough. 

The Gryffindor Head of House was currently resident in the hospital wing, and suffering concussion after her skull had hit the stone floor after being struck with Voldemort’s full body bind. She was unwell, but she would survive. At least she was alive. 

Rather than have Macnair, for he was Minerva’s observer, teach Transfiguration alone, a subject that he had no qualification in, Snape had cancelled all Transfiguration classes for the week, instructing students that private study in the subject should be undertaken in the library during those times under the supervision of Macnair and Madam Pince. 

Voldemort had thankfully left the castle before midnight the previous evening, returning to the old Riddle house in Little Hangleton that had been left empty since the murder of his father and grandparents all those years before, and he had assumed the estate as his own, an army of subjugated house-elves and fawnings lackeys in residence to pander to his every whim. No doubt there were captured Muggle-borns there too, to provide … entertainment. 

Severus had to find some covert way of making contact with the Order of the Phoenix, but he was not even sure who or how many had survived. He had seen the body of Nymphadora Tonks laying alone in the Great Hall, which might possibly suggest that Lupin was alive, and was relatively sure he had seen the distinctive blue and gold robes of Kingsley Shacklebolt in the assembled throng of chaos on the school steps yesterday. 

Would they even welcome his contact? This had not been in Dumbledore’s plan. Merlin knows, the interfering bastard had been trying to post-humously direct the war from his portrait over the last year – more than once Severus had been forced to conjure a painted gag to secure his incessant mouth. 

However, Dumbledore was dead, as was Potter. 

All bets were off. 

Severus had only his own wits left to use now. Miss Granger would be a formidable ally, if only he could keep his hands from her body long enough to engage her comradeship and support. 

Quite accidentally, he looked up at the students that were now clattering from the Great Hall at the sound of the bell that warned of fifteen minutes before the first lesson of the day, his eyes zooming in on Granger’s arse like a heat-seeking missile. 

The small lurch of the compulsion thrummed again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I could punish you myself, but no doubt Snape requires your … presence by now. I shall allow him to exact your punishment, on this occasion.”

By the end of the first lesson, the students were left in no doubt as to how the school would be run now that it was officially under Voldemort’s control. The Death Eaters that had been assigned to each professor made no effort to assist in teaching the class, most likely because they were not knowledgeable enough to do so. 

Instead, they sat at the side of the teachers’ desks, looming over classes like Dementors, a foul presence that sucked all the joy out of the room. They did not speak, other than to halt a professor if it was felt that they had not paid due deference to the Dark Lord, and the teachers bit out the humiliating, glorifying words, since they would be if killed if they didn’t. The freedom of speech was gone. 

In truth, Hermione felt, not even Voldemort was deranged enough to think that his motley crew of Death Eaters had the capability to educate young witches and wizards, even his precious purebloods would need good teachers. This was undoubtedly why Professor McGonagall had been allowed to live after her outburst in the Transfiguration classroom, where Dean Thomas had been felled. Voldemort needed these experienced, qualified, exceptional professors to provide tutelage to his students, and the Death Eaters were there to intimidate, and to contain any sniff of rebellion. 

Charms class had been instructive, and Professor Flitwick had provided Hermione with a stack of parchments containing everything they had studied since September, everything she had missed. Dolohov had growled as Flitwick had handed it over, but there was nothing he could do, she was a member of this class and as such, she needed to be given the same instruction as the other students. 

Flitwick had seemed nervous throughout the lesson, standing on his desk to teach as he always did, but his eyes kept flicking nervously to Dolohov, not trusting the dark wizard one inch, especially when he began tapping his wand upon his knee. The diminutive professor knew that one wrong word, just one misinterpreted action, would see him punished, and he was careful to teach only what was on the approved lesson plan, that he had provided them with at the beginning of the class. 

Herbology after break was no different, Professor Sprout seemed (understandably) tense as she took them through the maturation and cultivation stages of a Venomous Tentacula under the appraising and suspicious eye of one of the Lestrange brothers, who seemed particularly disgusted at being deputised to spend his days in a rather smelly greenhouse, and kept brushing bits of falling plants off his robes. Hermione wondered whether Sprout was doing that on purpose, her own silent piece of rebellion. She hoped so, especially when a small Snargaluff pod burst on the front of his trousers, and he was forced to Evanesco the sticky mess that resulted. 

Defence Against the Dark Arts, now renamed simply Dark Arts, was the only lesson that was not supervised by a Death Eater, undoubtedly because a Death Eater was already teaching it. Amycus Carrow was every bit as vile as Neville had described, two nights ago when they were sneaking down the connecting tunnel from the Hogs Head to the secret entrance of the Room of Requirement. 

Carrow spoke of dark curses and violent hexes with lust in his voice, calling them in pairs to face each other at the front of the classroom, Slytherin against Gryffindor, for it was still with Slytherin that they shared all their lessons. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff seventh-years were taught together on a different timetable. 

She was called to the front against Warrington, whose sheer height meant he loomed over her, even before he took the two steps up to the raised platform. Seamus and Parvati looked worried, Warrington looked insouciant and unconcerned, and Professor Carrow was practically salivating the thought of this troll taking down the little Mudblood. 

He would be disappointed. 

Size was no guarantee of magical power, and Warrington’s head was full of meat and witches. His family were not rumoured to have Death Eater leanings, but he was a Slytherin, and as such he moved in dark circles. She needed to take him down, if only to prove to herself that she was capable. 

She had survived Death Eater torture, destroyed a Horcrux, fought Voldemort’s giant snake and smashed her way out of Gringotts on a stolen dragon – she could win a supervised duel against Warrington, surely?

Hearing him incant a dark hex towards her, she raised her Protego immediately and on reflex, dropping it as soon as she heard the hex hit the shield and returning it with a Stupefy of her own, the red jet from the end of her wand hitting Warrington so hard and suddenly in the chest that it knocked him across the platform and into the wall behind him, where he slid to the floor, breathing heavily and his eyes unfocused. 

Carrow leapt to his feet from behind the desk, exclaiming loudly. 

“Vicious little Mudblood, aren’t you?” he roared. “Let’s see how you do against someone your own size!”

His threat was clearly ludicrous, since Warrington stood at least four inches taller than the Death Eater, but she would not allow herself to be intimidated by him, despite her heart pounding into her chest. Amycus Carrow was no normal professor; he was one of Voldemort’s pet psychopaths, and would not pass up the chance to do her some serious harm. 

He was so busy posturing; arranging his stance and attempting to destabilise her that he didn’t even realise that she had already whipped her wand into the air, casting a stinging jinx straight in his face that caused him to bring his hands up in pain, before blasting him in the stomach with a hex of such power that it shot him across the platform to join Warrington against the wall. 

Carrow recovered quickly, however, scrambling to his feet and grabbing her hard on the arm, his face contorting painfully as the stinging jinx took hold. One of his nostrils was trailing blood. 

“We do not attack teachers, you filthy Mudblood,” he hissed, yanking her towards him. 

“You told her to!” Seamus bellowed from the front desk, before being cut down with a silencing charm blasted from Carrow’s wand that slashed across his face like a whip. 

She struggled to free her arm from his vice-like grip. 

“Get to the Headmaster’s office, Granger.”

He conjured a slip of parchment that no doubt explained her misdemeanours. 

“I could punish you myself, but no doubt Snape requires your … presence by now. I shall allow him to exact your punishment, on this occasion.”

She snatched the parchment from his hand, uncaring that he might try and hurt her, before grabbing her books and bag from her desk and stalking out of the classroom, wondering if that had been Carrow’s intention all along – to remove her from the lesson and get her into Snape’s office. 

-xxx-

Hermione entered the Headmaster’s office at his barked command to enter, and looked around in shock at the walls that were now bare of the dozens of animated portraits that would usually greet student visitors so cheerily. Professor Snape was seated at the desk in the middle of the room, the two further levels of the office rising behind him, his desk covered in neat piles of parchments, and he was writing with a small, unusually-plain black quill. 

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“I’ve been sent out of Defence class, Professor,” she replied, walking over to the vast desk and standing in front of him, holding out the slip of parchment that Carrow had given her, which he snatched from her outstretched hand. 

He read it, cursorily, before taking his wand from the desk top and pointing it at the office door through which she had just entered, and she heard and felt him set a security ward. 

“Sit.”

He indicated the chair in front of his desk. 

“You hexed Professor Carrow in the face?”

“Yes.”

“For what reason?”

“He told me to.”

“He told you to hex him in the face?” Snape asked, his eyebrow arched in a way that suggested he did not believe her. 

“He had instructed us to come to the platform in pairs and cast dark spells against each other. I knocked Warrington to the wall and Professor Carrow didn’t like it. He told me to pick on someone my own size and took a duelling stance against me. He was taking rather a long time to cast so I got in first and sent the stinging jinx, and sent him to the wall as well.”

“I see.”

Professor Snape tapped one long finger thoughtfully against his chin before continuing. 

“Miss Granger, should I presume that the Warrington of whom you speak is the Slytherin boy who is the size of a small mountain troll?”

Her lips twitched with amusement but she forced herself not to smile. This was most definitely not an occasion where smiling would be helpful. 

“That’s the one, Sir.”

“Then in that case, I would suggest that you did rather well.”

What?

She noticed the tiniest glint of humanity in his usually shuttered eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Sir, I don’t understand?”

He sighed. It was time to make her understand. 

“Miss Granger. Are you aware of the reason why I requested … possession of you from the Dark Lord?”

Her eyes opened wide in surprise at the blunt and unexpected question. 

“Um … no, Sir?”

“You do not, I hope, think that I wish to ravage you in the same way as Yaxley has taken your friend, Miss Roach?”

“I don’t know what to think any more, Sir.”

“Then allow me to assist you. Let me advise you that I have no wish to cause you harm. I asked for you to be given to me so that I could ensure you were not subjected to abuse from one of my fellow Death Eaters. I believe that you are valuable to the Light and it is in my interests to keep you safe.”

“Valuable to the light? I don’t understand.”

“Then stop talking and start listening, Granger. Always with the questions. What I am about to say to you now does not leave the confines of this office, do you understand? To do so would mean certain death for both of us.”

She nodded, her chest tight with anxious anticipation of what he was going to say. 

“I confirm to you now that I am, as I have been since I started teaching at this school, loyal to Albus Dumbledore and to the side of the light. I work covertly for the Order of the Phoenix, and I shall not rest until the Dark Lord lies cold in his grave.”

Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Severus Snape – loyal to Dumbledore?

“But you killed him!”

“It was a mercy killing, arranged between Dumbledore and myself. He was dying, slowly and painfully from dying from a terrible curse that he had inflicted upon himself whilst collecting a magical object that he insisted he needed. My Avada Kedavra provided a two-fold purpose, firstly, it freed him from pain and saved him from a slow, tortuous death, and secondly, it ensured that the Dark Lord’s trust in me was absolute.”

“Marvolo Gaunt’s ring,” she murmured. 

“It was indeed a ring that cursed Dumbledore’s hand. How do you know about it?”

He leaned forwards, suddenly more interested in what she had to say. 

“It was a Horcrux.”

She heard Snape’s deep intake of breath and watched his black eyes flash in shock. He was a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, he would know what a Horcrux was, she had no need to explain further. 

“I should have known,” he hissed, more to himself than to her. “I fucking should have known. How many are there?”

“Dumbledore believed there were six, with the seventh part remaining inside Voldemort.”

“Six!”

An expression of shock mingled with cold fury spread across his face.

“Apart from the Gaunt ring, do you know of any others? What are they?”

“Tom Riddle’s diary, that Harry destroyed in our second year. Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, Salazar Slytherin’s locket and Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem. Voldemort’s snake is also a Horcrux, that’s why Neville was trying to kill it. And I don’t know for sure, but I believe that Harry also had an unintended part of Riddle’s soul inside him too. He could hear the Horcruxes. Whenever we were near them, he knew, he could feel them. We never discussed it, but I’m sure that I’m right.”

“So, this is the suicide mission that Albus sent Potter on. And yourself and Mr Weasley alongside him?”

“It is.”

“And may I ask how many of these items you were able to find and destroy?”

“All of them, Sir. The only ones that remain are Nagini, and the piece that remains inside Voldemort himself.”

He stared at her for the longest time.

“I had no idea that was what you were doing when you were being sought from all corners. I am astounded at your achievement, and that means Potter and Weasley, as well as yourself.”

She felt tears prick the back of her eyes and could not stop them tracking slowly down her cheeks. 

“I am sorry for your most dreadful loss, Miss Granger.”

Hermione could only nod in acknowledgement of his sympathy, and he sat back in his chair as he regarded her, his face serious. 

“I do not know about you,” he began, after a long pause, “but I am loath to accept that the battle has been lost while there is still breath in my body.”

Her head snapped up. That had caught her attention. 

“You will find you have very few allies, but I can assure you that I am one of them. I suggest that we begin our, admittedly small, resistance effort by locating the remaining members of the Order. Would you be interested in working alongside me? You are of age, and even though you were never formally inducted, I consider that you are an Order member. As I have been gifted you by the Dark Lord as a plaything,” he winced at his own words, “we must be seen to spend time together, alone, so that the Death Eaters in this school think I am using you for my own pleasure.”

Work alongside Professor Snape? The surly wizard terrified her, she knew nothing about him other than he’d worked her harder than any other teacher, was bullying and partisan, and had made both Harry and Neville’s life a misery, along with countless others, no doubt. He appeared to be universally hated, his face was like a neutral mask and she had never once managed to see a shred of personality inside the protective black armour he wore. 

Until now. 

If what he was saying was true, and she had no reason to doubt him, then he could be her only ally in this school. He had asked for her to be gifted to him, but he had not touched her or shown intent to harm her. He had looked embarrassed when he suggested they would need to fake his abuse of her. Having observed Orla Roach over the Great Hall that morning she could see that the other Muggle-born had suffered brutal treatment at Yaxley’s hands the night before. She had fortunately not suffered at all, and that was entirely because of Snape. 

“I’m in,” she replied, quietly. “I’m not sure what we can do, but if I can do it, I will.”

“Stupidly brave little Gryffindor,” he muttered, his mouth still set in a straight line, betraying no emotion. “Our priority is to arouse no suspicion. I shall summon you regularly, and shall be insinuating to the Death Eaters that I am using you for my sexual pleasure. I appreciate that will be distasteful for you, but there is no other way.”

“It’s fine, Sir. I am only glad that I do not look the same as Orla did this morning.”

He pressed his lips tightly together, as if he too had noted Orla’s injuries and distress, and felt guilty. He had not saved her, he could only save one and had chosen Hermione, not Orla. 

“You will then attempt to contact the Order of the Phoenix. At present, I am still considered their greatest traitor, so I cannot make contact with any survivors without being a target for instant retribution. Your post, at present, is still unmonitored and you may communicate by owl as freely as any other student. I forsee a point where this is no longer the case, but my valued comrades are not the brightest of wizards, and I feel it will take some time before one of them decides to make a decree that students’ mail should be intercepted and subject to inspection.”

“I will do what I can,” she agreed. “I don’t have an owl, so I’ll use a school one.”

“Vary the owls that you use,” he instructed, “and report to me as soon as you receive any answers. The silver lining of our forced time together means that you will be able to keep me regularly updated without arousing suspicion.”

“I will.”

He cleared his throat, and Hermione was surprised to see that he looked uncomfortable. 

“There is one other matter I need to discuss with you.”

“Yes?”

“I do not know whether you are aware, Miss Granger, but the Dark Lord placed a curse upon the both of us, last night.”

“I wondered what that was. I felt it, it was like something bursting inside me? It didn’t hurt, but it was quite a strange feeling. What was it?”

His black eyes bored into hers, burning with an unfathomable expression. Was he angry?

“It was a compulsion curse.”

“A compulsion curse?”

His gaze flicked to the fire in what seemed like embarrassment, before travelling back to hers with new resolve. 

“It is a dark, wanton curse that is cast between two people, forcing them to develop an intense sexual desire for each other. This desire turns into a physical need that compels them to seek … satisfaction … from the other person. We will be unable to achieve relief by our own hand, or from another partner, until Dark Lord either lifts the curse or dies.”

Hermione stared at him. She’d understood every word but still couldn’t believe it. Sex with Professor Snape? She never so much as smiled at him, let alone touched him. 

“The curse,” he continued, in a tone that reminded her of his classroom lectures, “is exacerbated by spending time with the other person. That, unfortunately, we cannot avoid. It is also intensified by touch, and the more satisfaction that is taken, the more will be needed. Desire begets desire. These curses are very loud, and all-consuming. Many of those afflicted are driven to madness when their needs are not met. Our only hope is to bring down the Dark Lord once and for all.”

“I understand,” she said, slowly. “We will have to ensure that we do not touch one another. I’m sure it will not be difficult since we’ve managed for the last nearly seven years.”

“Do not make light of this, Miss Granger. This morning you inadvertently brushed against me as you entered the main doors. It took several minutes for the compulsion I was feeling to dissipate.”

Oh, bloody hell, she remembered that. She had entered the Great Hall very aware that she had accidentally bumped against him, and had felt a flush of embarrassment, but also … something else that she hadn’t been able to identify. Now she knew, it had been the compulsion making itself known. Hermione could feel her face burning red. 

Severus watched her blush, wondering if she knew how delightful she looked with a scarlet flush to her face and neck. How far down did that flush go? Suddenly, he wanted to slowly unfasten all the buttons on her blouse, and find out. 

Realising that he was staring as well as fantasising, he needed to get her out of his office now, lest the compulsion take a firmer hold. He dismissed her, reminding her that all they’d discussed was of the utmost secrecy, not that he needed to. She understood everything. 

Once the door had closed behind her, he let out a long breath of frustration, kicked his chair back from the desk, and rubbed what was the definite stirring of an erection roughly through the front of his trousers, suddenly very glad that there were no longer any portraits on the walls in the Headmasters’ office.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What a shame that you are promised to Snape. There is so much I want to do to you, so very many of us that would take our fill of you. And you would enjoy it, Mudblood. I’d make sure of that.”

Hermione had missed most of the lunch break whilst talking to Professor Snape in the Headmasters’ office, so she headed straight for the library since her afternoon lesson was timetabled to be Transfiguration, so her class would be spending the double period in there, anyway. 

She had eaten such a large breakfast that she wasn’t too upset at missing lunch, those long months on the run where whole days had gone by without anything to eat hung potently in her memory – skipping one meal where there was promise of a hearty Hogwarts dinner in a few short hours was no great hardship for her. 

Bidding the librarian, Madam Pince, a good afternoon, she ensconced herself in her favourite corner of the enormous library – a cosy nook that had a comfortable chair, a good-sized table upon which to spread out her reference materials, and easy access to some of her favourite sections. Easing herself into the familiar chair, she breathed in her surroundings with pleasure. How many times had she sat in this exact spot, over the years? 

The sameness of it comforted her, providing her with a sheltered cocoon from the world that now lay in tattered chaos. 

She pulled out the Transfiguration textbooks and notes that had belonged to Lavender Brown, which were bound to be far from extensive, but they were a good place to start her attempt to catch up with the rest of the class. She had soon summoned an additional two tomes from the Transfiguration section to the left of her, and inking her quill, began to annotate Lavender’s classwork. 

Absorbed in her work, she did not hear the footsteps approaching behind her until he leaned over her, his lips close to her ear. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t the little Mudblood, here nice and early for my lesson.”

It was Walden Macnair, the Death Eater who had been assigned to shadow Professor McGonagall for Transfiguration lessons, and he was far too close for comfort. 

“It’s not your lesson,” she retorted, a little unwisely, “it’s Professor McGonagall’s. And we are undertaking private study here in the library until she has recovered from her injury and is well enough to teach again.”

He grabbed the back of her neck, along with a large chunk of her hair that was tied back in a low ponytail. 

“Don’t fuck with me, little girl,” he hissed, so close that she could smell what he’d eaten for lunch on the rasp of his breath. “I’m not sure you want two visits to Snape’s office in one day, eh? Carrow’s told me he’s already had to send you once. Unless Mudbloods enjoy the feel of a rapist’s cock in their filthy cunts?” 

Hermione privately thought that Severus Snape’s office was by far the safest place in Hogwarts for her at the current time, but after their conversation earlier she had no choice but to play along, and forced herself to look distressed at his words. 

“No, Sir. I apologise, Professor Macnair, I forgot myself. I am merely concerned for the health of Professor McGonagall. Please allow me to remain here.”

His ugly mouth curled into an odious smile that made her want to slap it right off his pig-like face. Being obliged to address someone as unworthy as Macnair, as ‘Professor’ was particularly galling. 

“Good girl,” he whispered, his clutching hand on her neck beginning to loosen, “I see the Mudblood knows her place. I’ll let your rudeness slide, this time.”

He leaned in closer and his hand began a lascivious caress upon the nape of her neck.

“What a shame that you are promised to Snape. There is so much I want to do to you, so very many of us that would take our fill of you. And you would enjoy it, Mudblood. I’d make sure of that.”

He let out a mock-sigh and stepped away from her as other seventh-year students from her Transfiguration class began to enter the library. Her flesh was creeping with disgust. Seamus headed straight for her, dumping his bookbag on the table with a thump and grabbing her hand, his face etched with concern. 

“Are you ok, Hermione? You weren’t at lunch. Me and Parv were worried.”

“I’m ok,” she replied. “I had to see Snape in his office and he kept me waiting.”

“Have you had something to eat?”

“No, but it’s alright. I got used to eating next to nothing last year.”

“But now you don’t have to. Here, have this, just don’t let Pince or Macnair see you.”

He pushed a wrapped package towards her, under the table, and opening it in her lap she saw a slightly squashed piece of sponge cake. 

“You’re a star, Finnigan,” she told him, breaking off a piece and putting it in her mouth after checking there was no one watching. 

“I aim to please,” he replied, with a wink, before pulling open his bag, ready to study, or at least pretend to. 

-xxx-

After dinner that evening, Hermione took herself up the narrow stone stairs to her dormitory alone, rather than sit in the common room, for she had letters to write and did not want to waste a moment. Where on earth to start? So many of the Order had fallen, and she wracked her brains to think who she had seen alive in the courtyard before they had Apparated away. 

Lupin was definitely one, and she thought that Kingsley might be another. Oh, and Fleur! Hermione remembered the Frenchwoman screaming as her husband Bill had been slaughtered, but she had not thrown herself into the fray. Had Fleur made it away from Hogwarts alive, too? 

McGonagall and Hagrid were here at the castle, whilst Tonks, Dedalus Diggle, Emmeline Vance, Sturgis Podmore, Dumbledore and Sirius were all dead. As were all the Weasleys. 

Except one.

Her heart leapt. Charlie! 

The second-eldest Weasley son, resident at the dragon sanctuary in Romania where he worked, would be her first point of contact, no doubt. She grabbed a quill and parchment, trying to break the news of the death of his entire family in as gentle a way as she could, but really, there was no easy way to do it, so she just said it. She then explained that because of ‘circumstances’ (she didn’t want to be too explicit, just in case the post did get intercepted) Charlie should not return to England just yet, but that she would contact him with more news just as soon as she could. She asked him to write back, so that she knew her owl had been received safely, and signed off, sending her love. 

Hermione then wrote short notes to Remus Lupin, Kingsley and Fleur, asking them to make contact with her if they could, not knowing where they were hiding, but the owls would find them, if they were alive. Sealing each of them with a charmed wax seal, she secreted the little scrolls at the bottom of her bookbag, intending to take them to the Owlery before breakfast the next day. 

It was still well before curfew, but she did not want to chance running into any more Death Eaters today, and they were more likely to be prowling the corridors in the evening. No, she would go in the early morning, instead. 

-xxx-

Morning brought its own surprises, once she was seated at breakfast after delivering her important missives to the Owlery and watching with satisfaction as four school post owls headed off from the tall tower in different directions. 

She was halfway through her bowl of hot porridge when a flurry of flapping wings indicated the morning post delivery, including an official-looking one for her, sealed with a Ministry wax. 

Opening it quickly, she found a formal letter from the Magical Probate Department informing her that she was now the legal owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. 

The letter went on to say that Harry James Potter had, in 1994, filed an official Last Will and Testament at the Ministry bequeathing all his worldly goods, money and property equally to Hermione Jean Granger and Ronald Bilius Weasley. Since Mr Weasley was also now deceased; every last Galleon, every last brick of the Grimmauld Place house, now belonged to Hermione. 

Her heart flooded with emotion at the realisation that Harry had done this so many years before, and never told them. This would have been the summer after the Tri-Wizard tournament. In lieu of family he’d had herself and Ron, and this Will proved it, not that she’d needed proof. In one fell swoop, her friend had secured her position from beyond the grave. 

Oh, Harry! I miss you. I wish you were here now, more than anything. 

Before she got too excited at having a place to live outside of school, she needed to clarify her legal position, for surely there was no way that the Ministry, under Voldemort’s control, would allow a Muggle-born to inherit money and property? 

However, this letter had come from the Ministry, so maybe it was indeed a legitimate bequest? Hermione was rather confused and tucked it away in her pocket, thinking that she would ask McGonagall to help her once she was fully recovered, or maybe she could even ask Professor Snape?

Never in seven years had she sought the counsel of her most feared, unpleasant teacher, but a lot had changed in three days. He was now the person she trusted most within the castle walls. How very odd. 

-xxx-

That afternoon, Hermione arrived with Seamus and Parvati for her first Potions lesson, only to find not Slughorn waiting there to teach them, but Snape. There were audible gasps of shock as students entered the room nonchalantly, knowing that Professor Slughorn was an indulgent teacher who rarely reprimanded them, and then visibly straightening up as they came face to face with the stern, unyielding Headmaster. 

Once they were all seated, he addressed the class, in a bored tone that suggested being in this room was a huge imposition upon his valuable time. 

“Professor Slughorn finds himself incapable of teaching at the present time. I am led to believe this is only temporary, and therefore I shall be taking this class today. Now then. Your attention to the board, immediately.”

And with that, he launched into his lesson at a breathtakingly fast pace, as if daring the students to keep up with him. His Potions tutelage had always been far superior to Slughorn’s, and whilst it wasn’t a pleasant or enjoyable teaching style, it was certainly effective. She wondered if he missed being in the classroom, now he was headmaster.

Not asking them to take out their textbooks, he explained the uses of the potion he had written on the board himself, before sending them off to collect their ingredients and begin preparation for brewing.

Hermione joined the queue for the storeroom, noticing a strange churning sensation in her stomach as she neared his desk. Was this the compulsion making itself known as she moved nearer to Professor Snape? He looked up as if she had spoken aloud, and met her eyes directly, giving her an imperceptible nod before returning his attention to the parchments in front of him.

He had felt it, too. 

She gathered her ingredients quickly, keen to put a greater distance between them, and returned to her workbench at the back of the classroom. 

What had he said to her? 'Desire begets desire.' That the compulsion will worsen the more time the two victims spend together; if they touch, the more they will want to touch, or with sexual contact – the more they … do it, the more they will want it. Well, she couldn’t even think about that.

Somehow, Hermione was finding it harder to be in this cold dungeon classroom with Professor Snape than to be alone with him in his office. She wanted them all to go away, so she could …

So you could what, Hermione? What is it that you want to do?

She didn’t know. Her stomach was bubbling, and the hairs on the back of her neck were beginning to prickle. The steam from her cauldron was making her brow sweat, at least, she hoped it was because of the steam. What in Merlin’s name was the matter with her? Her hand that was stirring her cauldron so precisely began to shake, just a little. 

She chanced a look back up the classroom at Professor Snape. He was looking directly at her. Fuck. He must feel it too. 

Quickly turning her attention back to her brew, she began to fumble for the ingredients that she’d chopped and had spread in careful piles around her work station, dropping them into the cauldron with the hand that wasn’t stirring. 

“Stop.”

Hermione hadn’t even heard him rise from the desk and stalk down the classroom towards her, but Snape was now standing mere inches away, his hand gripped around her wrist that was holding a palmful of porcupine quills. 

“Tell me, Miss Granger, what will happen if you add those quills at your current stage of brewing?”

He did not let go of her wrist. She could feel his palm, warm and dry against her bare skin, holding her steady. She looked down at her cauldron, and up at the brewing instructions that were clearly written in chalk on the board. Oh, shit. 

“The porcupine quills should not be added until the cauldron has been taken off the heat and left to congeal for seven minutes,” she answered. 

“Exactly.”

He looked pointedly at her cauldron, bubbling merrily over the hot flame. 

“I should be grateful, Miss Granger, if you would refrain from burning Professor Slughorn’s classroom to the ground during his absence.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Such an elementary mistake from a formerly promising student,” he goaded, and she felt his fingers tighten further around her wrist. 

Could he not let go? She wasn’t sure she wanted him to. 

Hold me, hold me, hold me. 

Severus could hear her thoughts screaming at him, not even needing Legilimency. 

Oh, I will hold you, little witch – I will hold you as close as you will let me. 

Their skin-to-skin contact was causing the compulsion curse to thrum through both their bodies, and if he did not do something quickly, he was at risk of taking her right there over the Potions classroom workbench. 

With as much self-control as he could muster, he slowly unfurled his fingers one by one from her wrist, seeing the white marks he had made against her skin with the tightness of his grip. She yanked her hand away once it was released, rubbing the life back into her discoloured skin. 

“Can I entrust you to complete the potion as per my instructions?” he sneered. 

“Yes, Sir.”

I want you on your knees, calling me Sir, with your little pink mouth around my cock. 

Severus forced himself to turn around, and walked to the furthest desk away from Miss Granger, beginning to appraise each student’s work, hoping fervently that Horace Slughorn heaved his enormous, malingering arse out of bed tomorrow and taught his own lessons. 

Thirty minutes left. He could do this. 

-xxx-

He opted not to take his dinner in the Great Hall that evening, very aware that he needed to allow the compulsion to dissipate a little before placing himself in the proximity of Miss Granger so soon. He had ordered a light supper from his personal house-elf, and had eaten, showered, and was now lolling on his bed in his black satin dressing gown, just enjoying a few hours of peace and quiet, needing the silence to order his own thoughts and regain his control. 

Even across the huge hall, their conjoined curse would weave its wicked way between them, and he did not want to risk it, after his mental aberration in the Potions laboratory that afternoon. 

What the bloody hell had he been thinking, grabbing hold of the girl like that? 

True, she was about to cause a gargantuan explosion by adding porcupine quills to a boiling cauldron, no doubt her loss of concentration was due to her own effects of the curse, and he supposed he’d had no choice but to halt her movements, but really, would a shouted warning not have been just as effective? 

Unbidden, he began to wonder what thoughts the girl had been having to cause her to be so distracted. They would have been thoughts … of him. Hermione Granger would have been fantasising about him. The knowledge that such fantasies were entirely curse-induced did not stop his traitorous prick from filling with blood at the thought of a young witch trembling at the thought of having sex with him. 

Fuck you, he thought, as he slid his hand between the opening of his robe and began to toy with his hardening cock, enjoying the feel of the soft skin over his erection, which stood stiff and proud after only a few seconds. 

Hmmm. 

He had only presumed that the curse would not allow them sexual pleasure independent of one another, perhaps he was wrong? After all, how would he know exactly what whim the Dark Lord had cast upon them?

Severus began to wank in earnest, unable to keep visions of Miss Granger out of his mind as he masturbated, but found himself hard-pressed to care. He closed his eyes and lay back on the pile of pillows, his black, slightly-damp hair splayed around him, and his teeth clenched as he vigorously pumped his hand up and down his own shaft in short bursts, building up a rhythm. 

He began to sweat, wanking harder, his face contorted with the effort as he chased down his climax. 

Oh, come on!

He needed this – he needed to come, he needed to expel the spunk that was weighing heavy in his hard balls. 

It was only when he had rubbed himself sore that he accepted an orgasm was not going to happen. 

You fucking, fucking bastard arsehole, son of a whore, Tom Riddle. 

He had been correct the first time – the curse would not allow them sexual pleasure alone, but it would permit them to get close to climax, but not spend, just to add an extra little dose of torment. His orgasms were now tied to one of his bloody students. A student he had a compulsion to jump upon every time he saw her. 

There were almost three months until the end of term. His conviction that he could do this was shrinking as fast as his disappointed, unsatisfied cock. 

-xxx-

It was Friday afternoon before Hermione found herself alone with Orla. The final lesson of the week had just finished, and since the weather was a fine May afternoon she decided to get outside in the fresh air and clear her head. She wandered through the grounds, not too far, just enough to feel the grass under her feet, and sank down on a small bank where she had a pleasant view down the hill and over the Black Lake. 

She had not been there long when she heard footsteps behind her, and her name being called. She turned, and seeing it was Orla, waved the girl nearer and beckoned her to sit down. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Both girls looked down at the view, a vista that neither of them thought they would ever see again, warm spring-almost-summer sunshine beating down on their heads. 

“Where did all the bodies go, Hermione?” 

She looked over to see Orla gazing wistfully at the surrounding school grounds – vast expanses of grass that only a few days before had been covered in the dead and dying bodies of students, forest dwellers, Death Eaters and Snatchers alike. There had been slain giants, spider corpses, felled Hogwarts statues and suits of armour. Where had it all gone?

“I have no idea,” Hermione replied, honestly. “Voldemort and the Death Eaters got rid of it all. I did wonder if they might have burned everything, but there is no sign of fire – no scorch marks, no cinders, no … ashes.”

“How are you holding up? You know, with your Death Eater? I don’t know who you were given to, since Yaxley and I left before, but I presume you are suffering the same way as me?”

She fingered the yellowing bruises on her neck, and it made Hermione wince. 

“I was given to Professor Snape,” she answered, watching Orla’s eyes widen in shock. 

“Snape? Oh, Hermione! He’s here all the time! How have you been coping?”

Hermione wasn’t sure how she wanted to answer. There was a need to provide Orla with some solidarity, but it would not do to tell her that Snape had not forced himself upon her, and that she was doing fine. She also did not wish to tell Orla about the compulsion curse, nor the strange feelings that it gave her. 

“Even Snape is not stupid enough to think he can have me at all times. It has been … bearable, I suppose.”

“Yaxley is coming back tonight,” Orla said, quietly. “I’m his Friday night treat, apparently.”

“I’m so sorry, Orla,” she replied, not knowing whether she should offer a consoling hug, or take her hand and squeeze it – she’d never been particularly tactile with other girls. “Did he, er, were you a …?”

“He raped me, yes. Twice. But no, thankfully I wasn’t a virgin, so it wasn’t as painful as it might have been. I learned very quickly not to struggle, that’s how I split my lip. I know what to do now. Eyes closed, it will all be over quickly.”

“How can you bear it?”

“Because I’m not being kept prisoner at Ministry, awaiting a prejudiced excuse of a criminal trial purely because my parents happened to be Muggles, and sent to Azkaban. Most of the time I’m here at school, my friends are here, I’m learning, I’m fed and I’m relatively safe. When I was working in the shop I lived in fear of the next time the door would open, and the nights – the nights were the worst. Here, I’m not alone.”

“I’ll remember that. It’s good advice.”

“You’re welcome. Oh shit, he’s here already.”

Hermione turned to see Corban Yaxley striding down the hill towards them, a most unsavoury look upon his face, his Death Eater robes billowing in his wake. Neither of them stood up. 

“It’s Friday, pet,” he sneered as he approached them. 

“I know that. I didn’t expect you until after dinner,” Orla replied. 

“Pet, you are the dinner. Now get up, I can’t stay past midnight, my wife is expecting me home.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Hermione heard Orla mutter as she gathered her things and stood up. 

Yaxley took a tight grip on Orla’s arm, leaning in to obscenely suck on her neck. 

“Oh, Granger,” he drawled, breaking his assault on Orla to face Hermione. “You need to get your little arse off to Snape’s office. He tells me he’s got something very special for you.”

Orla looked at her sympathetically as Hermione got to her feet. 

“Move it, Mudblood, now. I’m pretty sure you won’t be able to walk by the morning, Snape looked … rather hungry,” he leered. 

-xxx-

Professor Snape had apologised for sending Yaxley with the summons as soon as he had locked and warded his office door. 

“Do not worry,” she assured him, “it looks credible.”

“Indeed, it does,” Snape agreed. “He will no doubt be keen to spread tales of both his and my debauchery amongst the other Death Eaters, and with a bit of luck, it will also reach the Dark Lord’s ears that I am appreciating and making use of his gift.”

He sneered at his own words before reaching into his desk and pulling out a wad of parchments. 

“Yaxley was right about one thing, however. I do indeed have something very special for you.”

He raised an eyebrow at Hermione as if he wished her to guess. For the darkly severe wizard, it was an almost playful gesture. 

“Tell me.”

“These documents, Miss Granger, confirm that you are the rightful owner of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.”

“You know about that?”

“Naturally. And I also know that the Ministry are seeking to take it from you, but the Will is absolute and magically watertight. There is nothing any one can do to prevent you inheriting. Especially since the property has now been placed under a new Fidelius charm preventing anyone from even finding it.”

“It has? I thought Harry, Ron and I ruined that?”

“You did. But another has been set.”

“By who?”

“Do you need to ask that question?”

“Oh … oh Merlin. You went to Grimmauld and cast a replacement Fidelius?”

“I did, indeed.”

Her hands flew to her mouth in shock and gratitude, and her warm feeling towards him quickly translated into a thrum of the compulsion, this time right in the seat of her knickers. Oh, crap. 

“Thank you. I mean, just, thank you. So only you and I know where the house can be found?”

“There is one other.”

“There is?”

“When I visited Grimmauld Place this week, to ensure that it was truly empty of all sentient life before I laid the new Fidelius, I found it contained a mutual acquaintance of ours.”

“Who?” she practically shouted. 

“A former enemy turned comrade of mine by the name of Remus Lupin.”

“Lupin! He’s alive!”

“He is, and sought refuge at Grimmauld Place. Despite knowing that it was insecure, it was the safest place for him rather than out in the open. He has no Wolfsbane, and so has set up a secure room in the cellar where he will lock himself before he transforms. His infant son is being cared for by Andromeda Tonks. I have allowed Lupin to stay at Grimmauld, and I presume you have no objections?”

“Of course not!”

“Despite initially trying to hex my head from its shoulders when I first arrived, he was eventually persuaded to sit and talk rationally. He received your letter, and I have its reply here.”

Snape stood up, bringing the pile of parchments to her side of the desk and setting them in front of her. 

“Once we have spent the requisite amount of time alone together in here, and I warn you it will probably be some hours, since we need to be convincing, you may take your letter and the parchments pertaining to your ownership of Grimmauld Place back to your dormitory, for they are entirely yours and cannot be taken from you, regardless of your blood status.”

Unable to stop herself, she leapt to her feet and threw her arms around his neck. 

“Thank you, Sir. Thank you so much for everything you are doing for me.”

A split-second later she realised what an error she had just made, as her heart began to beat faster and the pulse that was beating in her underwear quickened. He slipped his arms around her in return, clearly unable to stop himself due to his own compulsion, and she could feel the heavy beat of his heart against her own chest. 

“Hermione.”

It had been softer than the tiniest whisper, but she had heard it. She heard him murmur her given name into her mane of curly hair. 

She had never felt so desired, so protected, as she did at that moment, held safe in the Headmaster’s strong embrace. If she pulled her head back, just a little, she could kiss him, she could. 

“Enough,” he growled, removing his arms from around her and extricating himself from hers. “We cannot. Not if we are to keep this damn curse under control.”

“But …”

“You do not desire me, Granger, however much you might think you do. You are magically compelled, as you well know. Use your brain, stupid girl,” he snapped, standing up and walking towards the fire. 

“I am going to order some supper, shall I order for you, too? You will be missing dinner in the Great Hall tonight.”

Hermione nodded, and thought guiltily of Orla, and what humiliations Yaxley was currently renting upon her. There would be no food or mercy for her. It was enough to douse any self-pity, since the other girl’s suffering was so much greater than her own.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was not I who murdered you, Albus,” came Snape’s inimitable drawl. “You asked me to end your life at a moment of your choosing, to end your suffering when you could take no more pain. You insisted that I blacken my soul to do so, and like a fool, I obeyed you, as I always have done.”

Remus Lupin sat at the long wooden table in the old-fashioned kitchen at Grimmauld Place, the room in darkness apart from a single candle in front of him, eating cold baked beans directly from the tin. There was no fresh food, but Kreacher had kept an extensive store cupboard of non-perishable items, so there was no danger he would starve to death. Not immediately, anyway. 

He rubbed his tired eyes roughly with his hands, scrubbing down his face and feeling the few days of beard that had grown there. He was tired, so tired, and his heart was broken. 

His beloved Tonks was gone, cut down in a Hogwarts corridor during a duel with the vile Dolohov. Remus had covered her body with his own to avoid further desecration as hexes rained down upon his back from Dolohov’s Death Eater partner, he knew not who it had been, nor why they had not simply cast an Avada upon him. 

Why on earth had she left her mother’s house to come and join him in battle? 

He knew why. She loved him, and would not have allowed him to die alone. He had never once deserved that witch’s love, and now she had paid for that devotion with her life. His vibrant young wife lying dead on the floor of the Great Hall was the most horrifying sight he had ever seen, and he was not ashamed as fresh tears began to fall. 

Harry had been killed too, along with every single one of the Weasleys, whom he considered family. James’ son was such an exceptional young man, one whom he had watched grow since he’d taught him in third year, and his death was a senseless waste. 

And now he himself was being hunted - his affiliation to the Order of the Phoenix and his lycanthropic status making him a duel target, despite being a pureblood wizard. Voldemort ruled the wizarding world and any perceived opponents to that would be eliminated. 

Remus could not return to Andromeda’s – that would put her and his son at risk. It was better for them if both he and Tonks were presumed dead. Andromeda would care for Teddy until such time as he could return for his child. He had not risked sending an owl, he could not be seen until the initial search had died down, and until he found any surviving allies. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt had been standing next to him when they had been forced to Apparate away from Hogwarts. He did not know where the former Ministry worker had fled to, but it was not likely to be back to work, since he had exposed himself as a covert member of the Order during the battle. Fleur Weasley had also still been standing - he presumed the new widow must have returned to Shell Cottage, since it was protected by a Fidelius and as far as he knew, the charm on the Tinworth house had not been breached. It was only the London house, here at Grimmauld Place where he sat, that was now insecure. 

Sirius had left the house to Harry in his will, but to whom did it belong now? He could hardly stroll into the Ministry archives department and enquire whether Harry James Potter had left a last Will and Testament. 

All he did know was that there were currently no wards erected around the house. He’d added some of his own, although since he was emotionally and magically depleted they were unlikely to be very strong. They were enough to allow him a few hours of sleep though, and he had slept deeply on one of the large sofas in the library, not wanting to venture upstairs to one of the bedrooms. 

He finished the last of the cold baked beans, he could have heated them on the stove but he just could not be bothered to make the effort to do so, and began to search the store cupboard for some tinned fruit or something similar, to serve as his pudding. 

There was a crack of Apparition outside the front door, and he felt a discombobulating feeling as the visitor began to dismantle his shoddy protective wards. Drawing his wand from the tattered sleeve of his cardigan, he slunk into the shadows of the hallway, giving him a good view of the door. 

The door lurched open and the tall, black-cloaked figure of Severus Snape appeared in it, illuminated from behind by the light of the moon in the clear night sky. 

Severus! What in Merlin’s name was he doing here?

The ghostly, shrouded jinx of Albus Dumbledore that Moody had set up, swept a cloud of dust down the hallway towards the intruder, calling “Severus Snape?” in a disembodied voice. 

“It was not I who murdered you, Albus,” came Snape’s inimitable drawl. “You asked me to end your life at a moment of your choosing, to end your suffering when you could take no more pain. You insisted that I blacken my soul to do so, and like a fool, I obeyed you, as I always have done.”

Poof. 

The jinx dissipated with a grim finality. 

“Is that true?”

Remus edged out of the shadows and into the small beam of light, his wand raised in an aggressive stance. 

“It is, Lupin.”

The two enemies faced each other, one with wand drawn, the other with theirs held loosely by their side, as if attempting to prove they were no threat. 

“How can I trust you, Severus?”

“Because you have no other choice.”

Snape closed the heavy front door, and began to walk down the long hallway towards the kitchen door outside where Lupin stood. 

“Shall we?” 

He indicated the kitchen where he could see the solitary candle illuminating the remains of Lupin’s meagre supper, stepped inside, and seated himself at the wooden table. Lupin followed him, still with wand drawn, and sat down opposite. 

“Why are you here?”

“I come on behalf of Miss Granger.”

“Hermione! She is at Hogwarts, and well?”

“Yes, on both counts. Voldemort spared her life, and has allowed her to remain as a student, alongside one other Muggle-born, as part of an experiment to see whether they can be trained and turned to his side.”

“What?”

“I am hoping that we will have found a way to remove the Dark Lord from power before that happens. It is preferable to having the two girls hauled before the Muggle Registration Committee and sentenced to Azkaban.”

“We?”

“Such verbosity, Lupin. Surely you do not think I can do this alone? We have little choice but to work together. Why don’t you ask me the question you are dying to know the answer to, it will save us both time?”

“Severus, have you always remained loyal to the tasks set for you by Albus?”

“I have. At great personal cost, I might add.”

Remus stared into the black eyes that he knew so well, desperately searching for confirmation, but he found nothing. Snape’s gaze was as dark and unrevealing as ever. 

“You said you were here for Hermione?”

“I am. Miss Granger has received notice that Potter left her this house in his Will. I am here to secure it on her behalf, as I believe the Ministry, under the Dark Lord’s control, will attempt to take it from her.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because, as strange as it no doubt seems, Granger and I are now allies. We stand together. It is your decision whether you wish to stand with us, Lupin, but I will tell you that we are all that is left. Unless you wish to roll over like a tame wolf cub and subordinate yourself to the Dark Lord.”

Remus stared at the dark wizard whom ten minutes ago he had been prepared to kill. If they had any hope of surviving, any hope of finishing Harry’s mission, they had no choice but to work together. He stood up, scraping the chair against the stone floor and holding out his wand hand. 

“I stand with you. You have my word.”

Snape copied his actions, standing and offering his wand hand in return.

“I stand with you. You also have my word.”

A flash of quick, light magic coiled around their clasped hands. It wasn’t so much a vow, as an intention, a promise to do their best, and their magical signatures recognised that. 

“What do we do now?” he asked Snape, helplessly. 

“We secure this building. It will be a valuable stronghold against Death Eaters, and a safe house for anyone we can persuade to join us.”

Remus sat at the kitchen table as Severus began to incant in Latin, making unfathomable bisections with his wand, and he felt the enveloping protection as Snape set the house under a new Fidelius charm. As much as he wanted to hate this greasy bastard, he found that at this moment he could only be impressed at his sheer magical skill. 

At length, Snape sat down again. 

“Your next task is to reply to Miss Granger, advising her that you are safe and well.”

Remus vaguely waved his own wand to summon quill and parchment from the study. 

 

"Hermione

I was so happy to receive your owl! 

I am safe, and am residing here in your home, if that is acceptable to you? Teddy is with his grandmother, who will care for him outside of all this chaos. In the future, I shall return for him. 

I don’t know where we go from here, but whatever happens we will stand together. 

In the meantime, work hard at school, pass your NEWTs, for these will be of great use to you in the future, once peace is restored in this world of ours. I know that you are protected at Hogwarts, our mutual friend has told me so, and this reassures me.

Take good care,

Remus"

 

He rolled up the scroll and pilfered the Black family crest to seal it with hot wax. 

“Open your Floo connection, Lupin. I shall use it to return to Hogwarts, and send food back through for you. You cannot live on Muggle tinned food – your supper looks quite revolting.”

Remus eyed the empty tin of baked beans, rather sheepishly, and cast his wand towards the fireplace, lighting the coals with an Incendio and opening the Floo connection. The orange glow instantly began to warm the kitchen and penetrate his chilled bones. He really should have done that sooner, rather than sinking into a depressive fug that the cold air had only made worse. 

“If you neglect your own health, you are of no use to the Order,” he snapped. “If you do not feed yourself properly, you let down Miss Granger, and belittle her trust in you. I will send food, and I expect you to eat it. You will keep yourself and this house warm and clean, and ensure you get sufficient rest.”

Lupin nodded, but did not answer, suspecting that this was what passed for kindness and concern from the mouth of Severus Snape. 

His former enemy bobbed his head curtly in return, before turning swiftly on his heel, grabbing a handful of grey Floo powder from the pot on the mantel and tossing it crossly into the flames. 

“Hogwarts, Headmaster’s Office!”

With an impressive burst of green flame, Snape was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They’ll always be Gryffindor pricks to me. But I miss them like absolute hell. I rather wanted to spend the rest of my life tormenting the bastards.”

It was well past curfew when Yaxley finally dismissed her from the dungeon bedchamber he had commandeered for his use when in residence at Hogwarts. Pulling her Hufflepuff school uniform jumper over her torn shirt, and clutching it to her chest as he had ripped her brassiere to shreds and had Evanesco’d the remains from existence, Orla crept down the dingy corridor, keeping to the walls and moving quickly in the shadows that were cast from the dim wall sconces. She had no wish to run into another Death Eater on the way back to her common room. 

It had in no way been a pleasant evening, but it had not been as bad as the previous time, as he had not struck or choked her, and she was uninjured. Violated and disgusted, yes, but not injured. She had managed to close her eyes as he ripped her clothing from her body, attempting to transport her mind elsewhere, anywhere but in this dank chamber with the ugly old Death Eater who had his hands and mouth all over her body. 

He could take her body, and he had done, but he would never take her mind. 

Reaching a dark section as she turned a corner, she squealed as someone grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shadows, away from most of the light. 

“Malfoy!” she hissed. “What are you doing? You’re out after curfew.”

“As if that is the greatest of my problems,” he muttered. “Now, listen to me, are you hurt? Yaxley, did he hurt you?”

“How did you know about that?”

“I’m a Death Eater, Roach,” he sneered, rolling up his left sleeve to show her the Dark Mark that had been branded upon it. “I know everything, including that you and Granger have been given to Yaxley and Snape as some kind of perverse payment for being allowed to stay at school.”

“You don’t agree then?” she asked, her Irish lilt becoming more pronounced in her surprise at his choice of words. 

“Of course, I don’t fucking agree. I had no choice in any of this. Now tell me, are you hurt? I can heal you, or take you to the infirmary?”

“I am not,” she conceded. “Well, nothing apart from hurt pride and humiliation. That tends to happen when you get repeatedly raped.”

Malfoy’s face winced in guilty pain at her words. 

“I hate this,” he moaned, quietly, scrubbing at his face with his hands, angrily sweeping his white-blond hair out of his eyes. 

He was taking a great risk not only in being out after curfew, for the Death Eaters were far stricter than the Hogwarts professors had ever been, but also in talking to her so openly. How did he know he could trust her? Perhaps he was so desperate to talk to someone that he no longer cared about the security of his own position. In these troubled times, who knew who they could trust. She took a punt. 

“Come with me,” she whispered. 

Orla took his hand and led him to the end of the dungeon corridor, up a flight of stairs and towards a huge tapestry that was strung across what appeared to be a solid wall at the beginning of the kitchen corridor, where at the bottom she would find the entrance to the warm, cosy Hufflepuff common room. 

She pulled Malfoy behind the giant tapestry into a small alcove that contained an armchair, a small bookcase, a single wall sconce and the tiniest window he had ever seen, through which glowed a silver beam of moonlight. 

“What the fuck?”

“You’ve never been here?”

“Never.”

“You’re missing out. All Hufflepuffs know about Helga’s Hideaway. You can completely closet yourself here, if you know the right spells.”

Orla took out her wand and cast a silencing and solidifying spell upon the tapestry, meaning they could not be heard, and nor could the tapestry be drawn aside until they left the hideaway. 

“Some students have been known to hole up in here for hours with a box of cauldron cakes and a good book,” she told him, smiling. 

He reached for her other hand, for she was still holding the one she’d been dragging him with, all the way from the dungeon corridor. She preferred the warmth of the kitchen corridor much better. He turned her so that she was fully facing him, but his hands were gentle, a welcome change from Yaxley’s vicious pawing. 

“Draco, what are you doing?”

“Help me, Orla. Please.”

“How can I help you? I can’t even help myself. Look at the mess I’m currently in.”

“That is not of your making. Every time … it happens, doesn’t it make you angrier, make you want to fight back?”

“I’ve just been letting it happen. Closing my eyes and taking my mind somewhere else.”

“You can’t!”

He tugged on her hands with vehemence, inadvertently pulling her closer to him, and she jumped a little. She had never been this close to the famous Draco Malfoy before. Hufflepuffs did not have much to do with Slytherins.   
His eyes – it was like looking in a mirror – they were the exact same blue of her own. She’d often heard it said that she looked like a Malfoy, a joke that she normally laughed off with the right amount of disgust, but being this close, she could see they really were similar. How unusual. Such similar looks but such different backgrounds – his being pureblood and her being Muggle-born. 

“What do you want from me, Draco?”

“I have no idea. I just know I can’t sit back and let this happen. There’s no support in Slytherin house, most families are either Death Eater or Ministry workers, or in Voldemort’s pocket in some way. So, I need to involve the other houses – Lions, Puffs, Claws. But everyone hates me. I need a way in. That’s where I need you, everyone fucking loves a Hufflepuff, and you were the one most likely to listen to me. I have no fucking plan, no bloody clue what I need to do now, only that there’s got to be some way, enough people, to fight this. To fight … him.”

Orla let go of Draco’s hands and gathered him fully into her arms, and to her surprise he accepted her attentions, laying his head on her shoulder and breathing hard and fast. She suspected he was crying. How long had it been since someone had held him, made him feel safe? If Malfoy was lurking in dungeon corridors waiting for abused Mudbloods then he must be desperate. The whole situation was completely weird, much like everything else in the wizarding world at that moment. 

“I’ll help you,” she whispered into his hair. “I don’t what I can do, and I’m scared, but if you’re brave enough, I can be too.”

He pulled back, removing his arms from around her waist and taking a step away from her. 

“I’m not brave. Potter always believed I was a coward. It’s a bit late, but I’m going to prove to him that I’m not. Oh shit, Potter, and Weasley … they’re fucking dead, Orla! Neither of those stupid Gryffindor pricks deserved to die.”

“Gryffindor pricks?”

She raised an amused eyebrow. 

“They’ll always be Gryffindor pricks to me. But I miss them like absolute hell. I rather wanted to spend the rest of my life tormenting the bastards.”

“I know plenty more Gryffindors you can torment. I’ll find them for you.”

“You will?”

“I will.”

She extended her hand, and he took it, sealing their pact as the magic swirled around their conjoined wrists. 

-xxx-

Severus felt intensely nauseous as he stepped into line with the other members of Voldemort’s inner circle. The loyal followers. The only ones he trusted enough to brand with the Dark Mark. That Draco Malfoy had ended up here was a fucking joke, he looked incongruous among the hugely experienced, older witches and wizards. 

Draco had only been marked to punish his father, who stood in his own place, a shadow of the arrogant, wealthy pureblood that he used to be. Malfoy Senior was as haggard and drawn as he’d been the day he was broken out of Azkaban. It was likely that Lucius would drop dead from a stress-induced heart attack before too much longer. 

They had been summoned to the Riddle House at Little Hangleton, and Voldemort’s minions had not been idle, for the house was as clean and opulent as it must have been years ago. It certainly was not the filthy, broken shell that Severus had seen on previous visits. 

The Dark Lord was holding court in a grand lounge, wearing black robes that softly undulated around his thin body as he walked slowly to-and-fro on a raised, carpeted dais that lifted him above his followers, who had been forced to genuflect in a semi-circle around him. The whole charade was sickening. 

Twisting the Elder Wand in his long, bony fingers, Voldemort addressed his inner circle. 

“It now nearly two weeks since the fall of Harry Potter! And what a glorious fortnight it has been. Both the Ministry and Hogwarts are openly under my control, and as you can see, I have never looked or felt better! My strength only increases with each day, my body becomes more solid, more corporeal. Why, I can only hope that I will soon be able to participate in Revels with the rest of you!”

There was a murmuring of unctuous approval from the gathered Death Eaters. 

“Now, you will see to the side that my house-elves have a provided a feast for you to help yourselves from, and whilst we eat and drink I shall call each one of you to approach me and account for your time over the last two weeks, and to tell me your intentions as we move forwards. Once you have been seen, you will find whores and Mudbloods around the house for your amusement until you are dismissed at the end of the evening.”

Voldemort bowed his head expectantly to receive a round of applause, and the inner circle moved as one towards the refreshment table where a sumptuous buffet feast had been laid out before them. Severus was appalled, but not surprised, that the mad bastard had grouped Muggle-borns in the same category as the rancid whores that populated Knockturn Alley. 

Seeing a defeated, naked witch pass the doorway, he was reminded anew of his determination to keep Miss Granger and Miss Roach at Hogwarts – to spare them this fate. 

“No longer shall the Dark cower in fear of the Light,” Voldemort crowed. “We shall take all the pleasures life has to give and revel in them!”

Severus served himself a plate, for he would be a fool to refuse the bounty of the Dark Lord, and accepted a goblet of wine that he sipped covertly slowly. He did not wish to be under the influence of alcohol when within cursing distance of the wizarding world’s self-appointed new ruler. 

Conversing little, he continually observed the interviews between Voldemort and each member of his inner circle. He would call the wizards, and the few witches, up to the dais and have them kneel before him while he searched their minds. Occasionally, he would seem to be angered, and give the Death Eater who had displeased him a Crucio to remind them of their role in the new establishment. 

Other times he would be pleased, and bestow the loyal follower with a stroke of their hair, and indicate that they should leave the room to find themselves a witch to debauch. The female Death Eaters were just as eager for the whores and captives as the male ones. 

Voldemort had chuckled when he searched Yaxley’s mind, no doubt the Head of Magical Law Enforcement had plenty to show him of punishments delivered, kangaroo-court decisions and enough rape of Miss Roach to satisfy him. 

“I am thinking you would rather be at Hogwarts a little more often, Yaxley, if this is the service you are receiving?”

“I am satisfied, My Lord, in every respect. You are most gracious. We cannot all be as fortunate as Snape and have our Mudbloods at our beck and call.”

Voldemort smiled, a hideous contorted smile that terrified rather than appeased, before waving Yaxley upstairs.

“Indeed, Severus, you must be the most satisfied wizard in this room! Come, take your place.”

Severus swallowed hard and stepped up onto the dais, kneeling before the hated snake of a man, wincing as he Legilimised into his mind. Severus successfully Occluded everything pertaining to a potential rebellion, and inserted a few false memories of him abusing Miss Granger by piecing together scenes of her face as she’d hugged him, the way she’d looked at him as he’d held her wrist in the Potions lab, as if she wanted to devour him alive. 

Mixed in with these were memories of past conquests, only showing the parts of their body that was necessary to make the Dark Lord believe he was fucking a student. He kept in the screams of rape victims and the grunts of Knockturn Alley whores, and could only hope it was enough to fool Voldemort. 

Withdrawing from his brain with a disgusting slither, Voldemort looked down at Severus, his eyes full of suspicion. 

“I do not believe, Severus, that you are making the most of the boon I have granted you.”

“On the contrary, My Lord, I find her most satisfactory.”

“Then why do I see in your brothers’ minds that the girl is in lessons every day? Always on time, homework always completed, not a bruise on her body, no distress in her eyes? How is it that she is managing to outperform every other student in her year? You are not being firm enough with her, Severus. You are thinking like a schoolteacher, not as a Death Eater.”

He leaned closer, close enough for Snape to see the light imprint of scales upon his skin, and he shuddered in disgust. 

“And you are a Death Eater, Severusss. I suggest you act like one.”

A small group of wizards, the ones who were stationed within the school, had gathered around the dais to observe.

“Since Lord Voldemort is pleased with you, and understands that your position at the school is hard, I shall assist you once again.”

He pointed the Elder Wand at Severus, and cast what felt like a stronger version of the compulsion curse upon him, before smiling in a terrifying fashion. 

“If you want more, you will take more. And with the additional compulsion I have just gifted you with, you will certainly want more, Severus.”

The shot of arousal hit him instantly, and his thoughts were filled with nothing but the little Gryffindor to whom he had pledged his allegiance. 

His cock throbbing with the sudden erection that was trapped inside his trousers, and his gut churning with frustrated desire, he looked around at the assembled Death Eaters who were acting as professors, with whom he would return to the school, as Voldemort addressed them, his slippery voice oozing out the words. 

“Ensure that the Mudblood is brought directly to the Headmaster’s office when you return to Hogwarts. He will no doubt have urgent need of her.”

Shit. 

-xxx-

Hermione was shaken awake by a rough hand on her shoulder. 

“Parvati?” she asked, blearily.

“No such luck, Princess,” came the gravelly tones of Alecto Carrow, who was clutching Hermione’s bare arm in a tight grip, pulling her up from the mattress. “The Dark Lord has ordered that you be brought to Snape immediately. So, get up, and fast.”  
Carrow gave her arm another vicious yank, causing her to sit up and her feet to fall onto the dormitory floor. Barely awake, she began to reach for her wardrobe in the night time darkness of the room. 

“You won’t need clothes, you little slut,” Alecto spat, lasciviously eyeing Hermione’s floral shorts and sleep vest. “You are to come exactly as you are.”

And with that, she took hold of Hermione’s elbow and steered her out of the dormitory door, down the steps and through the silent, deserted common room, which was draughty and cold without a blaze burning in the huge fireplace. Alecto pushed her through the portrait hole, and her bare feet were quickly chilled by the cold flagstones of the corridor floor beneath them. 

“Headmaster’s office, Mudblood. You know the way, so move.”

Hermione set off in the direction of Gargoyle Corridor, walking speedily since the quicker she walked, the quicker her feet would be on a warm rug again. She could feel the goosepimples prickling on her arms and was thankful of her wild, thick hair for once, since it was warming her shoulders, bare apart from the thin straps of her vest. 

Knowing where she was headed, she felt a slight thrum of the compulsion making itself heard. 

“What is happening?” she asked Carrow, over her shoulder, as the squat Death Eater who was supposed to be her guard was struggling to keep up on her short, fat legs. 

“Let’s just say that Snape has had an extra gift from our Lord tonight. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Hermione didn’t bother to answer, and carried on at the same pace. Let Carrow run and pant to catch up, she had no mind to wait for her. 

Sadly, she did catch up, as Hermione was forced to wait at the foot of the Headmasters’ stairs to gain entrance, since two other Death Eaters; Macnair and the other Carrow twin were lying in wait for her, flanking her as they forced her onto to the stone steps, holding her in place as the staircase turned to bring them up outside Snape’s office. 

“Well, look what a tasty piece Snape has here, Amycus,” leered Macnair, eyeing Hermione’s nipples that were clearly visible through the thin, stretchy material of her vest, and erect from the cold. 

“Fucking shame we can’t have a bite,” Amycus grumbled.

They entered without knocking, the two wizards pushing her roughly through the door. 

Snape was pacing in front of his desk, looking agitated, as if he were waiting for something, and was in great pain doing so. 

“Come here, Mudblood,” he demanded, stopping stock-still in the middle of his pacing to stare at her. 

Macnair and Carrow shoved Hermione hard towards him, unbalancing her so that Snape was forced to put out an arm to steady her. The Headmaster caught her around the waist, pulling her towards him so that her back was flush against his chest, which she could feel heaving with desperate pants. He buried his nose in her hair, so that his lips were touching her left ear. 

“Struggle,” he hissed, barely audibly. 

“Get off me!” she shouted, attempting to free herself from his strong arm that was clamped around her. 

“I think not, Granger,” he sneered, straightening himself up so that the Carrows and Macnair could hear him now. 

There was something rock hard pushing against the small of her back which could only be an erection, not that she had much experience there but the rules of basic anatomy meant that was the only thing it could possibly be. 

Keeping her pulled hard against him, he lifted the other hand to her breast and began to pinch her erect nipple over the top of her vest, grinding himself into her from behind. 

“Get out!” 

He directed his order at the gawping, salivating Death Eaters. 

“You saw what our Lord gifted me with, and I need to satisfy it now. I refuse to do that with you three perverts watching me. Get out … now.”

He leaned down and placed his open mouth on the side of her neck and beginning a sucking kiss, before taking her full breast into his hand and squeezing it. She struggled against his grip, but it only seemed to increase his frantic grinding. 

“Please, don’t … Professor Snape, Sir … stop it!”

Macnair walked over to her, tipping her chin up with a sleazy finger and a look of mock-concern upon his face. 

“Bad luck, Mudblood. Professor Snape has a very bad itch he needs to scratch. All night, I should think. More to the pity he doesn’t want an audience. I’ll tell your teachers you’re unlikely to be in lessons tomorrow, because he won’t be letting you leave any time soon.”

“Get your hands off my witch, Macnair. She was not gifted to you, and I do not share my presents.”

Macnair raised his palms in a gesture of surrender, and Snape placed the flat of his hand against her stomach. His touch was driving her crazy, despite the humiliation of the situation. 

“Out!”

Snape’s voice brooked no further dissent. The three Death Eaters turned and left the room, Macnair slamming the office door with as much force as he could. 

The moment the door hit the frame, Snape released her, drawing his wand and throwing ward after ward upon the door in a fit of anger. 

He walked right up to her, far too close, his eyes burning black fire. 

“The Dark Lord,” he said, with some difficulty since he was breathing so heavily, “added to my compulsion curse tonight. I am now feeling everything that you are, multiplied. My aim is to keep you safe from me until it dissipates.”

He cast his wand at the wood-panelled wall, and a hidden door opened. 

“I cannot allow you to leave without incriminating us both. That is the door to my private bedchamber. Go in there, secure the door, and go to bed. Do not allow me to enter, however much I might beg you.”

“But, Sir, how will you cope? Are you in pain?”

“Do not concern yourself with me. It is not safe for you to be near me at the present time, because believe me, Granger, I will rip that vest from your body and suckle that sweet tit that I had the pleasure of holding, until you beg me to release you.”

She clutched at her belly as it flipped over with excitement at his words, and took a step towards him. 

“Go. Now,” he growled. “If you want to help me, you will follow my instructions.”

He gave her a push towards the open door. 

-xxx-

Severus felt her ward the door to his bedchamber, and heard the loud creak of the mattress as if she had thrown herself upon it. 

He growled out loud. 

What he wouldn’t give to be throwing Granger on the bed, and following her on to it. 

His rational mind told him that he was in the iron grip of the compulsion curse, but his body was screaming at him nonsensically for release. He was in pain – an anguished, physical pain. He ripped off his long, black coat and threw it impatiently on one of the armchairs before the fire, pulled the tight cravat from around his neck and loosened some of the buttons on his shirt front and cuffs. At least he was slightly less restricted now. 

He prowled around his office, stretching his arms and legs, arching and bridging his back, rolling his neck – anything that might speed the dissipation of the curse. Grabbing his decanter of firewhisky, he threw back a large mouthful straight from the bottle, hoping the tart burn at the back of his throat would distract him. 

Running his hands roughly through his long, slightly greasy, hair and pushing it back from his face, he remembered the feel of her bare skin under his hands, the soft curve of her back as he’d ground his cock unceremoniously into it, and fucking Merlin, the deliciously tight bud of her erect nipple as he’d rolled it between his fingers to convince the Death Eaters that he intended to spend the night abusing her young body. 

Snape could not help the tortured groan that forced its way up from the pit of his stomach, and he sank to his knees on the thick rug like a wounded animal, all the time rutting his hips fruitlessly, like a wild stag in season. 

He couldn’t bear it, and yet he must. 

He had survived the worst torture imaginable, pain that the Dark Lord had thrown at him, over the years. A compulsion curse should be nothing, except that it worked on his deepest desires, not just a physical pain. You could not just grit your teeth and pretend the compulsion wasn’t happening, as he could do with a Crucio. A compulsion curse would slither its way into every hole in your psyche, and slowly drive you to insanity. He certainly felt unhinged, right at that moment. 

Once the wave of agony had subsided, he stood up and took another slug of the firewhisky, wondering if he could drink enough to pass out. 

Pacing around the office again, he only got as far as his desk chair before the next wave hit him, engorging his cock to the point where his trousers were painfully constricting his blood supply. He shouted out in pain. 

There was nothing for it. He roughly unfastened the buttons and lowered the zip of his trousers, pushing them down along with his underwear, no longer caring about decency, so long as he could get his hand on his aching prick. 

The first touch of his grasping hand was sweet relief as he began to masturbate, trying to not to think about his inability to reach completion. He filled his mind with Granger instead, imagining her standing before him with her abundant hair flowing loose and taking off her tiny pyjamas as he watched her. 

He did not realise how loud he was groaning. 

-xxx-

Hermione tried to cover her ears to block out the sounds of Professor Snape’s moans of misery as she curled up in the Headmaster’s enormous bed, which was tapping at her own compulsion since it smelled so blissfully of him. As yet, she was not in a bad state, certainly nowhere near the overwhelmed state that the dark wizard was in, but the feelings were not going away, and his cries of agony were provoking her. 

If she felt like this, how on earth must he be feeling, having been cursed with a double dose? 

Her heart was breaking for him. How could they continue like this? One, or both, of them would surely be driven mad in their quest to not become sexually involved with one another. 

A tiny voice prodded at her subconscious. 

Would it really be so bad? 

She had no partner, Snape had no wife. She was well of age, turning nineteen in a few months, and although he was significantly older, he was not yet forty, since he was the same age as Harry’s parents would have been. Voldemort’s victory had thrown the world into chaos, and alliances were being formed that she never would have dreamed of. 

It seemed that she and Snape were to be the bedrock of the resistance movement, and they could not do that with them both in states such as they were tonight. 

It was just sex. 

It wasn’t pain, or torture, or humiliation. If they were successful in defeating Voldemort then the curse would die with him and they would both be free. If the Dark Lord prevailed again … well, it wouldn’t matter anyway, since they would both likely die in the attempt. 

She made her decision. 

Drawing her wand, she reversed the locking charm on the bedchamber door, pushed it open, and stepped silently into the Headmaster’s office, to find Snape holding his exposed penis that looked purple with overwrought and painfully swollen, tears of frustration tracking down his face. 

She walked towards him. 

-xxx-

What was she doing?

“No, Granger, get back! I absolutely forbid it,” he panted, his thin black hair sticking to his forehead with the sweat of his endeavours. 

“We can’t go on like this,” she replied, continuing to walk towards him. “We have a job to do, and we cannot do it with this hanging over our heads, playing with our minds and causing such physical pain as you are clearly in.”

She had reached him, her knees touching his. He was so far gone, he cared little that his naked and erect penis was in full view of a student. 

“Go back to bed, Miss Granger.”

He sounded unconvincing, even to himself. 

“Desire begets desire,” he warned. “If you touch me once, I will be compelled to seek your touch over and over again.”

She knelt down in front of him, and his cock lurched at her proximity. Granger reached out her hand, took a full hold of his leaking prick, and the physical feeling of relief of her small hand against his skin was so potent and immediate that he felt like weeping. 

“I cannot let you do this,” he argued, covering her hand with his own. 

“Just show me how, Sir.”

He stared at her, his dark eyes meeting her lighter brown ones. 

With no further words being spoken, and without averting his gaze, he began to move the hand that he held over hers, guiding her fingers along his cock, allowing her to feel exactly how he liked to be stroked – down to the base and back up again, slightly twisting off at the end to provide extra sensation to the head. 

He groaned, long and loud. Fucking hell. 

Severus manipulated her hand up and down, feeling her little fingers caress every vein and ridge that littered the surface of his penis, never breaking eye contact, unable to drink down enough of the utter sincerity that he could see there. 

Hermione Granger was nothing if not a quick study, and he soon loosened his grip as her own hand took control of the operation, keeping to the exact pace and mimicking the exact motions that he had set for her. He gripped the arms of his desk chair, his knuckles whitening with the effort. It was unlikely to take long, since he was so fucking aroused, to the point of passing out. 

Looking down to see this little witch wanking his cock was the sweet relief that he had craved since being cursed. He was slack-jawed, and his eyes were partly closed in bliss. 

“Fuck, Granger … oh, yes … yes, just like that, girl. Don’t stop.”

He was close to orgasm now. 

“Don’t stop! Fucking Merlin …”

She placed her free hand on his naked thigh and sped up the other, masturbating him faster.

“Oh! Oh, my fucking god! Now! Now ... ungghhh …”

He threw his head back in acceptance of the roaring climax that shook his entire body, and he thrust his hips upwards, pushing his cock into her palm as the thick blobs of semen erupted from the end and slid slowly down her hand and in-between her fingers like hot, melting ice-cream. 

A slight movement still causing his hips to twitch, he looked down at her beautiful face, his compulsion now assuaged, but for how long?

He then moved his eyes further down, to her hand, which was still wrapped around his cock and covered with his come. 

What the fuck had they done?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I will do what needs to be done. It wasn’t exactly difficult, Sir.”

Severus picked up his wand from the surface of his desk and cast a cleansing charm at his penis, and Miss Granger’s hand, which was still wrapped around his shaft as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it next. 

Once he had cleaned all traces of his frantically-sought orgasm, she unfurled her fingers and withdrew her hand, pushing herself to stand up by leaning on each of his bare knees. Granger stood before him, like the most delectable treat in that tiny vest and shorts, her wild hair bouncing around her shoulders and down her back. He wanted to wrap his hand in it and pull her face to his, to snog her deeply and passionately like a desperate teenager.

Even though the desperation and sheer agony of his heightened compulsion had passed, a low thrum of desire was still present, and Merlin, he desired her. 

“I thank you for relieving my distress, Granger. But I fear that the ramifications of your actions will cost us both dearly.”

“I don’t care. You were suffering greatly, and I had the means to help you.”

“You care too much. I advised you that the more you relieve the symptoms of the compulsion curse, the more you will be compelled to seek relief. It is a perfect, never-ending circle of exquisite torture, which can only be satisfactorily controlled if the two victims are in a regular and consensual sexual relationship.”

To his surprise, she shrugged. 

“I will do what needs to be done. It wasn’t exactly difficult, Sir.”

His eyebrows flew up into his hairline at her words. What did she mean by that?

“For now, Granger,” he replied, choosing his words carefully, “I suggest that you return to bed. My chamber is at your disposal, since we have no choice but for you to spend a lengthy amount of time here tonight, since the Death Eaters present are aware of the strong curse cast upon me, and will expect me to use you to satisfy it.”

She did not answer, but turned and walked across the room to the open door in the wood panelling that led to his private bedchamber. He could not help but watch her little arse as she walked, barely contained in the shorts, and thought how very much he would like to bite into one of those peach-like cheeks. 

“Don’t forget to ward the door,” he called, as she stepped through. 

He could have sworn that he heard her tut as she closed the door. Little chit. Belatedly, he realised that he was still sitting in his chair with his trousers and shorts around his ankles, his naked and now very limp penis hanging out in a most unappetising manner. He stood and pulled them both up, fastening his trousers and stretching the cramps from his legs. 

The pain and anguish of a few minutes ago was completely relieved, and he was forced to guiltily admit that he felt fantastic. Severus wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted or needed to come as badly as he had done, under the effects of a double compulsion curse, and the intense pleasure he had felt as he’d spilled over her small hand wrapped around his cock had been immeasurable. 

What about the next time?

Surely this had to be a one-time only situation. He had already touched Granger far more in the last two weeks that he ever had over the preceding seven years, and had just allowed her, a student, to wank him to orgasm in his very own desk chair. Admittedly, it had been a desperate situation, suffused as he was with the additional curse, but they would simply have to return to their original plan, because the alternative was unthinkable. 

Severus sat down, rolled his chair under the desk and summoned a pile of parchments and several leather-bound ledgers towards him. If he was unable to access his bedchamber, he would work, instead. 

-xxx-

Hermione entered Professor Snape’s private bedchamber for the second time that evening, padding across the thick green rug, past the bed and through an open door that beckoned into a bathroom beyond that was already dimly lit. 

She couldn’t help but be surprised at the beautiful, sumptuous room – containing not only the toilet and sink that she was seeking, but also an enormous circular bathtub, sunk into the floor with a dozen taps, each one ornately wrought from different metals. Across from that there was a huge shower area, enclosed on three sides with stone walls. 

Letting out a low whistle as she used the loo, she admired the room, supposing that it was the Headmasters’ privilege to have such a luxurious bathroom. 

She was distracting herself from what had just happened by admiring the interior décor. Hermione could not get away from the fact that she had just masturbated Professor Snape to a roaring climax and he had come all over her hand – and she had liked it. It had made her feel a raw power that she had not experienced before. 

It was the compulsion, of course, for she was hardly attracted to Snape, of all wizards, but for the first time she had touched a penis it hadn’t gone at all badly. 

Thus far, her sexual experience was limited to a few snogs with Viktor Krum in fourth year, and a few more when she had visited him in Bulgaria the following summer. Much to Viktor’s disappointment, she’d balked when he had touched her breast over her blouse, and once she returned to England their communication had ceased almost entirely, apart from the requisite seasonal greetings. 

Ron Weasley had kissed her. They’d destroyed the Hufflepuff cup that had been a Horcrux with a Basilisk fang, and had been overcome by the all-consuming sensations, hidden deep in the claustrophobic environs of the Chamber of Secrets. It had been a beautiful kiss, full of love, tenderness, and the promise of a thousand more. They’d both laughed awkwardly afterwards, despite the intensity of the situation.

She looked in the mirror above the sink as she washed her hands, and saw a few tears spring from her eyes and roll slowly down her cheeks. 

Oh, Ron! How can you not be here? 

Who knows where their relationship would have led, had Ron lived – had he not been cut down in his prime whilst doing something so noble as attempting to save his mother? 

Hermione splashed water on her face to remove the tears, and patted herself dry with a soft, dark green towel that was hanging on a metal ring by the sink. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, she re-entered the bedchamber, and climbed back into the huge four-poster bed that dominated the room. She felt tiny in it, and couldn’t deny it was extremely comfortable. 

The pillows smelt of Professor Snape, and she supposed it was what his hair must smell like. Not unpleasant at all. It had a familiar, reassuring scent, and she nestled her face against one of them. Moving around in the bed to get comfortable, something touched her hand, and she grabbed hold of it, pulling it out from under the covers. 

It was an old nightshirt, crumpled from wear, that must have been pushed under the quilt the last time he wore it. Before she could think about the good sense of what she was doing, she drew the faded grey garment to her nose and inhaled deeply, her olfactory nerves assaulted by the scent of his body. Her stomach lurched with the now-familiar pull of the compulsion, and she lay back against the pillows, looking up at the dark green canopy above, the nightshirt held against her face. 

Hermione felt a pulse between her thighs, and opened her legs wider to accommodate it, sprawling herself across the mattress, and undulating her hips in tight little circles as if to try and dissipate the strange feeling, but she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to. She quite liked it, and closed her eyes, breathing in his smell and feeling a definite dampening in her pyjama shorts. What would it feel like, she wondered, to have a wizard’s penis inside of you? She had yet to find out. Would it hurt so very badly? Or would it be a quick pain as you tore, and then pleasure? She remembered how Snape’s had looked, large and purple in her hand as she’d rubbed him. How would that feel, pushing inside her? 

A sudden flash of her dark professor above her in this very bed, with his long raven hair hanging down as he pounded into her, caused her gut to turn over with a vicious flop, and the pulse between her legs increased in speed and pressure, like a second heartbeat thumping in her crotch. 

Hermione had rarely explored herself further than a mildly-curious poke and prod in her bedroom at home, never in her dormitory at school, and to be honest, she’d been far too busy keeping control of Harry and Ron and making revision timetables to think about her own sexual needs. But now? Now she felt the need. 

Slipping her hand down the top of her floral shorts, she extended two fingers down towards her labia, seeking the little bud that she knew would be there, although the pulsing seemed to be coming from lower down. 

No sooner had she touched her clitoris, the sharp zap of a dark hex burned her fingers, and sent a stab of pain running through her genital area. Ouch!

This was no doubt Voldemort’s piece de la resistance; the compulsion would arouse her, but the hex would prevent her from seeking even the smallest amount of relief from her own hand. 

Oh, fucking hell. 

Would this dissipate if she left it alone, forced herself to think of something else? She began to recite the twelve uses of dragons’ blood, amused as always that the final one was in fact oven cleaner, but the memory of Professor Snape’s erect, needy cock hovered around the edges of her psyche like a looming spectre. 

She felt empty. She felt aroused. She felt … alone. 

For the second time that night, and goodness knows what time it was now, Hermione quietly left the Headmaster’s giant bed and stole across the green rug towards the chamber door, opening it without a sound, and tiptoeing across the office towards him.   
Snape was seated at his desk, a quill held loosely in his hand and parchments spread out before him. He was leaning fully back in his chair, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open, emitting light snores through his large nose. His white shirt was only partly fastened, although she noted that he had put his trousers back on. 

“Professor?”

-xxx-

“Professor?”

His eyes were open in a split-second, and his mind was awake in a second more. Granger was standing by the side of his desk, still in those tiny pyjamas, the moon still high in the night sky. He raised an eyebrow at her. What was she doing out of the bedroom again?

“Sir … please.”

Please what? What was she asking for?

He saw her body shiver and tremble in the chilly air, and realised that he knew exactly what was the matter with her. It was laughable that he’d thought that her touching of his most intimate skin would not affect her own compulsion, even though it was lesser than his own. 

“Are you compelled?”

She nodded. 

Damn it all to hell. 

It had been too much to hope for that their contact earlier would not have affected her. At her admittance, he felt his own, double-strength, compulsion, stir again. 

“Do you wish for me to assist you?”

Granger stared at him, as if she wanted to answer but was scared to do so. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded, again. 

He picked up his wand and waved it over the desk, sweeping all the books and parchments to one side, and casting a cushioning charm over the remaining surface. Then, he rolled his chair back a little, and indicated that she should stand in front of him, in the space between his chair and the desk. 

To his amazement, she moved there immediately, and stood before him, visibly shaking with the compulsion that was no doubt tearing its way through her body. If he carried on, if he assisted her, he’d no doubt give himself another dose, too. But this was not about him. This was about a young witch who had lost so much and had suffered so greatly. She needed help, and he was the only one who could provide it. He must do what needed to be done. 

Severus lifted his hands to her waist, taking hold of her floral shorts, and tugged on them, bringing them slowly over her hips, revealing her mound, and pulled them down to her knees, where they fell the rest of the way to the floor. She stepped out of them, unbidden, and he watched her intently, not able to pull his staring eyes away from her most private area, for she wore no knickers beneath her pyjamas. 

“Lay down,” he murmured, his voice low and instructive, and hopefully calming. 

She sat on the edge of the desk and leaned back, laying herself down on the top, which was long and wide enough to support her from her head to her knees, and she would be comfortable on the charmed surface. He could see her stomach rippling and trembling, and he placed the flat of his hand upon it, eliciting first a gasp, but then a relieved exhale of breath. Her compulsion knew that its target was there, and providing it with the attention it craved. 

When her breathing had slowed, he removed his hand from her belly and placed one hand on each of her knees, slowly opening her legs as he rolled his seat forwards, approaching her exposed pussy and settling a bare foot on each arm of the large, wide headmasters’ chair. 

He heard a small sob. She was crying. 

“Granger?”

“I’m … I’m sorry, Sir. It’s just, I’ve never … um, never …”

“Do not say any more. I shall take care of you.”

He turned his attention, as if his eyes had ever left it, to her luscious cunt, which was there for his delectation but a mere few inches from his face. He hated himself for drawing pleasure from her agony, but with his own compulsion, and the sheer allure of this beautiful young witch spread before him, he had little chance of thinking otherwise. 

Trailing his fingers slowly up the soft skin of her inner thighs, his long fingers reached her pussy, stroking her outer lips gently, getting her accustomed to the new feeling. Her sobs quieted, and were replaced by the sound of shallow breathing, and the odd gasp, especially when he slipped his fingers between her labia and began to open her, spreading her wider, looking for the hidden secrets within. 

Her clitoris was already swollen and aroused, much like his cock had been earlier, and without thinking too much about the good sense of what he was doing, he leaned forwards and began to lick it, circling his tongue around the hard little bud whilst keeping her splayed open with his hands. 

A squeak of pleasure from above told him that she liked his touch, and this erotic thought alone, the thought that he pleased her, caused him to deepen his kissing of her pussy, attaching his mouth around as much of her genital area as he could, sweeping his tongue along all her inner walls, and as she began to writhe, pushing it inside her vagina, drinking all the potent juice she had been making. 

If only this were real! If only his tongue had really been invited deep inside Hermione Granger’s willing cunt, sucking her orgasm closer and closer, instead of the fake desire caused by the compulsion. He could never land a witch like this for his own if he lived to be two hundred. 

Severus was astounded to feel a hand scrabbling in his hair, threading her fingers through the limp strands and clutching a handful, as if trying to force him deeper inside her. He redoubled his efforts, urged on by her enthusiasm, opening his mouth wide and attacking her clit with a maddening flicking motion of his tongue, her little screams driving him faster. 

As her hips began to rise from the surface of the desk, he knew he had her, but did not cease his attentions until she had crested her hill and fallen over the edge of her climax. His tongue swept around and inside her vagina as it oozed the silky clear fluid that tasted purely of her. He was already drunk on the exquisitely sweet taste. 

Once he had removed his mouth, he could not resist pulling her labia apart and watching the heaving pulse of her cunt as her orgasm died down. What he wouldn’t give to stick his worthless cock in her, right there across his desk. At the thought, said cock twitched painfully in his trousers. 

-xxx-

Hermione sat up as soon her head stopped spinning, and feeling the wet mush that was now her crotch squish on the desk top, she quickly stood up instead, rather than remain on the hard surface, standing between Snape and the desk. He had pushed back his chair to allow her to stand, and was now slouched back in it, rubbing at one of his temples with the tips of two fingers, and his mouth was glistening with her juices that he had not seen fit to wipe away. 

She picked up his wand, for hers was in the bedchamber where she had left it. 

“May I?”

He waved a vague hand to indicate, go ahead. 

Hermione cast a cleaning charm between her legs to tidy up the moisture that was now making her thighs feel wet and sticky. He watched her intently, his black eyes focused entirely between her legs. It made her feel admired, until she remembered that he was magically compelled, as she was.

Casting another cleaning charm at his face, for it was making her feel awkward to look at her own emissions smeared around her professor’s lips, she then handed him back his own wand, which he took, and began to roll it thoughtfully between his long fingers, as if he was surprised it had worked for her.

“Thank you for helping me, Sir.”

He sighed, deeply, his eyes flicking away from her and looking at something unknown across the room. 

“I am not sure that either of us have helped one another in the long run, Miss Granger.”

“I was thinking …”

“Yes?”

“We have a difficult path ahead of us, Sir. We cannot rid ourselves of this curse until we eliminate Voldemort, or somehow persuade him to lift it from us. Since the chances of that are slim to none, I suggest we proceed with our plan to locate the other Order members, and regarding the curse, I think we should just … do what needs to be done.”

“Are you suggesting that we allow the curse to repeatedly force us into unwanted sexual congress?”

“Do you have a better suggestion?” she demanded. “Because the agony you were in earlier looked pretty incapacitating. Plus, the Death Eaters in the castle expect to see you with me, using me. Wouldn’t it be easier to just … do it? For that reason, and for our own comfort and relief from the symptoms of the curse?”

“You are an innocent. Under normal circumstances, you would never have chosen me.”

“I am a virgin; however, I am not innocent, I’ve seen and experienced too much for that. And under normal circumstances my friends would be alive, my family would not be lost to me, and an insane fucking madman would not be ruling the wizarding world. We have only what is here now, Professor. And let us not forget, you would never have chosen me, either.”

I’d have chosen you every time, he thought, not that you’d ever have looked that way at an old scrote like me. 

“Your logic is, of course, impeccable, you over-achieving little chit.”

She smiled at him, despite the seriousness of the situation. 

“I’m so tired. I need to sleep.”

“By all means, be my guest,” he replied, waving his hand to indicate the bedchamber door through which he had already sent her through twice that evening. 

“You should come too. You also need sleep.”

“That is inappropriate. I shall remain out here.”

“Don’t be a martyr, Sir, it doesn’t suit you. I think we have become intimately acquainted enough tonight that we may share a frankly enormous bed without too much trouble.”

He arched one quizzical, dark eyebrow in such a way that it made him look rather sexy. 

A little devilish, and a lot dangerous, but unquestionably sexy. How very curious. She reached down to pick up her pyjama shorts from the floor. 

“Leave them,” he growled, standing up and taking a firm, definitive hold of her hand, leading her towards his bedchamber.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, Miss Granger,” he replied, keeping his lips so close to hers that they brushed together as he spoke. “This is most definitely not personal.”

It only took as long as the walk from the office to the side of the four-poster bed for Severus to lose his nerve. He was pulling a half-naked student into his bedchamber with the intent to do … what? He had no fucking idea. Her compulsion was assuaged, thanks to him driving her to orgasm with his tongue, and his own compulsion was grumbling, but nothing like the frustrated agony of earlier that evening. 

He let go of her hand and took hold of her bare upper arms, thumbing her cold skin and looking down at her innocent face, upturned and trustingly waiting for his next move. He pushed her gently to sit on the bed, the quilt already pulled back where she had left it in a heap. 

“Go to sleep, Miss Granger. We will discuss this tomorrow, when the need presents itself.”

She scrambled on to the mattress and drew the quilt and sheets up to cover herself, thankfully, because he was having a hard job keeping his eye away from her nakedness from the waist down. He began to walk around to the other side of the bed, not entirely sure if he should disrobe, but reluctant to sleep in his tailored, fitted trousers and heavy belt, so he began to remove them. 

“You don’t think it would be easier to talk about it now, whilst neither of us are compelled?” she asked, laying down on the pillow that was on her side, fully turned to face him. 

He would clearly get no privacy to remove his clothing. 

“Speak for yourself,” he muttered, unbuttoning his white shirt but at the last moment opting to leave it on, not wishing to be stripped topless in front of Miss Granger. 

Severus climbed into the bed on the opposite side wearing the undone shirt and his black undershorts, pulled the covers up to his chest, his arms on top and lay flat on his back, ensuring there was a respectable amount of empty bed between them.

“Are you suffering with the compulsion?” 

“A little,” he admitted. “But I am not in pain as I was earlier. This is nothing but an annoying grumbling, no doubt earned whilst assisting you.”

She didn’t answer, and he felt a little guilty for his terse answer, for the silence between them stretched out in the darkness. He felt his eyes grow heavier in the comfortable familiarity of his own bed, and closed them, allowing himself to breathe slower and deeper. 

His thoughts filled with the feel of her soft pussy against his tongue, the sweet taste of her fluid and the little pants of sexual arousal that had been such a fucking turn-on. Her idea that they should just do what needed to be done was a noble one, but the reality was that Granger had no bloody idea how alluring she was. Her mind was sharp, her nature benevolent and her body so innocent that she would be getting the shoddy end of the deal. For him, such interactions could only ever be a pleasure, and that felt very wrong, to sexually benefit from such a dark curse. 

Severus felt his cock begin to swell further, the compulsion making itself heard, knowing that the focus of its attention was just inches away. 

“Are you alright, Sir?”

He opened one eye and turned his head towards her. She was still in the same position on her side, and he could see her eyes wide open in the white beam of moonlight that was shining across the room. 

“I am quite alright, Granger. However, this will soon change if you persist in staring at me whilst I am trying to fall asleep.”

“Your breathing has changed, Professor. Its faster, and more ragged. And, um …”

He followed her eyes down the covers where there was a distinct tenting of the quilt around his hips, where his damn cock now stood proud and erect. He turned towards her, mirroring her position on his side, if only to take pressure of the heavy eiderdown from on top of his sensitive prick. 

“It’s not personal,” she whispered. “It is a way to stop both of us suffering under this curse.”

Quite involuntarily, he lifted his arm and moved it towards her, slipping his hand behind her head and tangling his fingers in her long hair, as he had wanted to do earlier, rubbing the tips lightly on the back of her scalp. 

“I do not wish to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.”

He breathed deeply, his large nostrils flaring with the sudden intake of breath. 

“You are proposing that we should each meet the demands of the compulsion, whenever they occur?”

“Yes, Sir. It is the only way we can avoid detection or further punishment, and gives us a reason to be together so that we can move forward with our plans, not that they consist of much, at the moment.”

Shaking, he moved his head nearer to hers, keeping his hand around the back of her scalp, dropping the lightest kiss on her soft lips. 

“It’s not personal,” she whispered.

“No, Miss Granger,” he replied, keeping his lips so close to hers that they brushed together as he spoke. “This is most definitely not personal.”

-xxx-

Despite her recent orgasm, Hermione’s stomach flipped over as Professor Snape appeared to give himself permission to let go of whatever had been controlling him, and whatever doubts had been holding him back. 

Returning his mouth to hers, she felt him begin to move his lips, which were surprisingly skilful as they swept over hers, and he angled her head so that he could cover as much of her mouth as possible. Urged on by her own compulsion, she allowed her tongue to slip out and lick along the seam of his lips, which provoked a loud groan from him that rumbled up from his chest and out of his mouth, as he was kissing her. 

In one smooth movement, he closed the bodily difference between them so that he was laying flush alongside her, his obvious erection pressing into her naked mound as he opened his own mouth and shocked her with the skill of his tongue, swiping deep inside her mouth and twisting around her own tongue like a frenzied, coiling snake. Whatever she’d expected from her former Potions master, it certainly wasn’t that he could kiss like this. 

She could not help but let out a gasp of surprised pleasure, and this seemed to spur him on further, as he slid his hand down her back and pressed on the base of her spine, causing her hips to be locked even tighter against his own. 

Guided by the demands of the compulsion, she slipped her arm around his neck and her hand into his hair, as she had done whilst he had been licking her on his desk. He groaned now as he’d done then, a sound of reluctant pleasure, as she grabbed a handful of long black hair and gently twisted it. 

She heard his jaw click with the large movements he was making, snogging her frantically as if he could not get deep enough into her mouth to satisfy himself. Hermione mirrored his movements, matching him as she moved her lips against his, allowing her soft tongue to duel with his sharp one, which increased his pace as he tried to gain control. 

“Fucking hell, Granger,” he panted, as he pulled back to draw breath. 

She didn’t reply. She couldn’t, for she was just as breathless as he, her lips feeling wet and swollen by his ardent kisses. 

“If we choose this path,” he warned, before kissing her again, “then you must understand, I will have you. I will have you in more ways than you can imagine.”

She stroked down the side of his face, tracing his lips with her finger. Right now, she had never wanted anything more. He snapped at the finger, catching it lightly between his teeth. 

“You will need to show me how, Sir.”

“Oh, I will show you,” he hissed, pulling her finger from his mouth and pressing her to lay on her back, “I will show you everything you need to know, little witch.”

He roughly pushed up her vest, exposing her breasts, and he exclaimed in sheer lust as they were bared before him, unable to wait a moment longer before dropping his head to the nearest one and capturing her nipple in his mouth, suckling frantically. His hand was on the other in an instant, squeezing her breast in his full palm and flickering his thumb across her nipple. 

Rather than fear, Hermione felt … powerful. This feared wizard, the scariest professor in Hogwarts and Death Eater spy, had lost control at her breast. Her compulsion spiked hard, and she moaned, loudly. 

“That’s it,” he growled, allowing his mouth to stop sucking her nipple for a short moment. “Don’t be silent, Granger. Show me that you like what I am doing to you.”

Like it? She fucking loved it. 

Hermione closed her eyes, and concentrated on nothing but the wizard attending her breasts, and the dark compulsion that was flooding through her, urging her onwards. 

-xxx-

Severus ground his hard cock against her thigh, his mouth full of her delicious tit, his tongue flicking her nipple, and his fingertips giving the other the same attention. He felt some loosening of the compulsion, which was interesting. Perhaps it did not always need an orgasm to satisfy it, just sexual contact with the target was enough. They would have to research exactly how it worked, which would involve lots of practice.

His inherently Slytherin side curved his mouth into a wicked smirk at the thought of the practice sessions he would take her through. 

Propping himself up on his elbow, he looked down at her, this little seventh-year student spread out in his bed, looking completely debauched with her vest pulled up above her breasts, two pert tits bared to his view with her nipples erect from his ministrations. 

“Do you desire me, Granger?” he drawled, causing her eyes to open and meet the intense gaze of his own. 

“I do, Sir,” she admitted.

“Then open your legs.”

She began to move her thighs apart, and he pulled the one nearest to him over his own leg, spreading her open, before dipping his hand between them, feeling her flinch at the first touch of her damp pussy. He placed his mouth next to her ear. 

“I want to fuck you. I need to fuck you. But I need you to come for me first, so that any pain caused to you will be minimal. Can you do that?”

He felt her nod, and her hips were already beginning to move. Oh, she wanted him. She was desperate for him.

It is the compulsion, you deluded bastard. This witch does not truly desire you. 

He began to massage his full hand around her cunt, feeling the warm wetness around his fingers as he delved deeper, pressing the heel of his hand on her clitoris and feeling gratified to hear her gasp. 

“Do you like how I am touching you?”

She coughed out an answer that he couldn’t quite make out. 

“I shall take that as a yes, Granger, but there is so much more you have yet to experience.”

He sank two fingers deep into her opening without warning, feeling her tight and wet around them. Bloody Merlin, it was going to be a tight fit if he did get to fuck her. She let out a noise that was almost a little scream, and he immediately began to thumb her clit whilst leaving his fingers inside her, distracting her with the pleasure whilst her insides became accustomed to the intrusion. 

“I do not believe you have any idea how desirable you are,” he muttered, pressing and circling her clit with a continuous rhythm that was making her stomach visibly contract. “All wizards would desire what I have in my hand right now. All wizards.”

Nothing personal? You are a fucking idiot, Severus Snape. 

He crooked his fingers to agitate her sweet spot deep inside, a pleasure centre he suspected she had no idea existed until that moment, as her eyes flew open in shock. 

“Relax. Allow me to touch you.”

“I don’t … that feeling … I feel like I’m going to …”

“You are not going to piss, Granger. Please relax. Allow me …”

Keeping up a steady movement of his fingers inside her, her sped up the movement of his thumb, rubbing her little clit that was hardening and swelling, allowing it a couple of discreet ‘slips’ to briefly tickle her urethral opening, that made her inhale sharply. 

He did not let up until her panting suggested that she was close to climax. Removing his invading fingers, he took hold of her clitoris and rolled it between his thumb and index finger, pulling it slightly away from her body. 

“It is time to come, little one,” he growled, directly into her ear. “I will not be letting go of this delicious clit until you have released yourself into my hand.”

She moaned in aroused frustration, and it was music to his ears. 

Severus began to delicately twist her bud with his long fingers as if sprinkling a large pinch of salt above a bubbling cauldron. Her hips bucked up hard, and she held them there, her body rigid. He continued to relentlessly twist her clit, determined to provoke another orgasm from her tonight. 

“Into my hand, Granger. Come on.”

With a final, frantic scream, his frigging pushed her over the end, and he pulled her clit without mercy throughout her orgasm.

“Oh, good girl. Keep going. Keep coming. I want all you have to give me.”

He watched her stomach contract hard, her rigid hips finally falling loose as the aftershocks pulsed through her. Now would be the time, whilst she was out of herself and in a post-orgasmic haze. He would deal with contraception afterwards. He wanted to make this first time as painless as possible for her, and the matter of his own rock-hard cock was no small consideration either. 

He vanished his undershorts wandlessly and with as little fuss as possible, fuck knows where they had gone to but he really didn’t care, and then moved atop her, pushing her thighs a little further apart with his hips as he settled between them, pressing his erection to the opening of her cunt, that was still contracting open and dripping fluid from her orgasm. 

Before she realised what was happening, he had pushed inside her channel with one smooth, hard movement, forcing his way through her barrier and feeling it tear, making sure he was seated deeply inside. Her eyes flew open in pain and shock, and she clutched hold of his upper arms. 

“Breathe, Hermione. Breathe. It is done. I am fully inside you. It will be only pleasure from now on, I promise you.”

Whilst reassuring her, he was attempting to ignore the sensation that was currently surrounding him, the utter bliss of the tightest pussy he’d ever felt, gripping the sides of his cock as if she would never it go. 

Holy bloody fuck, it was astounding. 

He gave an experimental thrust, very gently, to ascertain if she was ready for him to proceed. She yelped, and squeezed his arms tighter. 

“Shall I stop?”

“No. Just take it slowly. This feels so weird.”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard sex described as feeling so weird, but then again, he had never slept with such a virgin as Hermione Granger. 

Severus drew out of her a little way, and then back in. Back and forth. Back and forth, slowly rocking inside her, increasing his movements very gradually. This had to be a good experience for her. 

“The pain is going,” she told him, and he felt the clutch of her hands relax on his arms until they were merely resting on his shoulders.

He took this as his cue to increase his pace, and he began to speed up until his movements were a steady rhythmic pump in and out of her. To his surprise, he felt her hips start to undulate against his, and he pushed deeper. 

-xxx-

Snape was supporting himself on his hands, that were flat on the mattress at either side of her head. It was exactly the visual she’d had earlier, when she’d been lying here alone, of his labouring above her. His familiar face, but now contorted with pleasure as he had sex with her. She was having sex. With Professor Snape. And it was … really, quite nice. 

There had been a stab of pain, and a burning sensation as he had pushed inside, but that was now mostly forgotten as he stroked himself inside her. Snape had surprised her, entering her without warning as she was still coming down from her orgasm, but she was strangely grateful for it. It had stopped her overthinking, and prevented any awkward moments as they prepared to ‘do it’ for the first time. She must tell him that, afterwards. 

Hermione felt her hips begin to rock against his movements of their own accord, and there was a look of surprise upon his face. 

“You can go faster now,” she told him. 

“Fuck, Granger.”

“Yes, I think you are,” she smiled. 

“Fucking teasing little witch,” he growled, actually growled, and she felt him speed up his hips, drawing his penis all the way out before pushing it back it again. 

She pushed down on his shoulders, and he leaned against her hands, thrusting hard inside her. His eyes began to partly close, and his teeth were bared and gritted with the effort he was making. His long black hair hung in thin strands down either side of his face as he leaned over, and he dropped to his forearms so that his chest was laying on hers, his skin bared to hers through his unbuttoned shirt. 

Not able to stop herself, she grabbed him around the ears and pulled his mouth to hers, kissing him with surprising passion. He groaned in acceptance, and pushed his tongue into her mouth, thrusting it inside with the same vigour as he was fucking her with. 

“Put your legs around me,” he instructed.

She did so, and there was no stopping him from that point onwards. He pounded into her hard, fast and deep, crying his anguish into her mouth. It felt like … nothing she’d ever felt before. Hermione couldn’t describe it. 

Snape’s mouth slipped from hers with the force of his thrusts, and a litany of filth trickled from his escaped lips. 

“Fuck! This is what you get, Granger … Damn, damn … oh, Merlin.”

He pistoned in to her with a flurry of final thrusts, a shout of release signalling his climax as his body went rigid, and she felt him pulse as he came inside her. 

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh, my fucking god. Oh, god. I want you. God knows I want you, witch.”

He was nonsensical as he came down from his peak. 

-xxx-

At length, once he had finished spilling his seed and his soul, Severus rolled off her, summoning a bottle of contraceptive potion from the top drawer of his bedside cabinet. After casting a cleansing charm upon them both, he bade her to sit up and drink the potion. As she did so, she finally pulled her vest down, putting away the lushest pair of tits he had seen for many a year. 

“This will last for a month.”

“You keep contraceptive potions in your bedside drawer?” she asked, raising her eyebrows as she knocked the small vial straight back in one gulp. 

“I do not believe I ever claimed to be a celibate, Miss Granger. I am an adult wizard with needs, as I am sure you are aware.”

Was that a look of disappointment on her face, or had he imagined it?

“Are you in pain?” he asked her, concerned. 

“No. I’m fine.”

“You will most likely be sore in the morning. There is pain relief potion in my bathroom cabinet, should you require it. Feel free to take what you need.”

“Thank you.”

A tense silence passed between them. 

“Did I do it right?” she asked him. 

He could not stop himself from barking out a short laugh, which broke the awkward atmosphere somewhat. He sat cross-legged in front of her, uncaring that he was naked apart from his shirt that was flowing loose and open. 

“We have now opened ourselves to the full effects of the curse cast upon us. My only regret is that I have taken from you that which is most precious to a witch. Apart from that, let me advise you, Miss Granger, that what just passed between us, indeed, what has passed between us since I threw my colleagues out of my office two hours ago, has been extremely pleasant and satisfying.”

She smiled at him, her relief palpable, and it was a beautiful, honest smile. 

“You don’t need to feel guilty about taking my virginity. Honestly, I really don’t care. And the way you did it – I was shocked, but I think it was the best thing to do. I didn’t have time to worry about it or overthink it. I have a tendency to do that.”

“I have marked your essays for six years, Granger. Your tendency to overthink has claimed great chunks of my personal leisure time, you ought to know.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Compared to most of the dross I am forced to read, it was a pleasant, if time-consuming, change. Now, I have a suggestion. I believe that due to the effects of the multiple curse that was witnessed being placed upon me, we can get away with a significant amount of time tomorrow without you having to leave this office. I propose that I leave the entrances warded and we travel via Floo to Grimmauld Place, to call on Lupin. I am sure he would like to see you, and I think it prudent for the three of us to talk, away from walls that have ears.”

“I’d like that.”

“And as for now. We should sleep. Should I presume that it is acceptable for me to remain here with you? If you are at all uncomfortable I shall remove myself to my office.”

“Here is fine, Sir.”

She lay down, pulling the covers up to her chin, and he did the same, putting a little distance between them and sinking into his own pillows. 

Extremely pleasant and satisfying?

That was a bloody understatement if ever he’d heard one. He’d spend the rest of his godforsaken life fucking her through this very mattress and over every piece of furniture in his office, if she’d let him. Granger was exquisite. 

Suddenly, he felt a movement beside him, and a small hand sought and found his own, lacing her fingers in his and squeezing softly. He squeezed back in return, without thinking too deeply about it. 

It’s not personal, Severus. Remember that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The snake is the key,” Snape answered. “Nagini must be killed before the Dark Lord."

Hermione vaguely registered the castle’s morning bell ringing at the usual time, but had been encouraged to ignore it by the Headmaster sliding his hand quickly across the bed and onto her bare stomach, leaving it there gently to restrain her from getting up. She was so tired from the repeatedly broken night that it hadn’t seemed a strange thing, at the time. 

The second time she awoke was clearly late-morning, bright May sunshine was streaming through the windows, and there was a disembodied chatter filtering through from the grounds outside that suggested it was break-time, or even lunch? No, it couldn’t be lunch time already, surely? She wondered exactly how late it was, and how long they had slept for. 

The hand on her stomach was still there, hot and a little sweaty against her skin, and his long fingers had crept upwards and were just touching the soft underside of her breast. She turned her head slowly to the right, a little afraid of what she might see, but was relieved to see that Professor Snape was still slumbering heavily on the pillow next to her. Was he even aware of how intimately he was touching her? This was all so very bizarre, but then the whole world had gone insane in the last two weeks, nothing was as it had been before. 

Hermione used the time to study the features of the wizard she had found herself unexpectedly in bed with. In the bedchamber of the Hogwarts’ headmaster, nonetheless. A surly, partisan wizard with whom she believed she was reasonably well acquainted, after all the years spent in his classroom, just a brief look at him whilst at rest told her she knew nothing. He was powerful yet gentle, honest yet complicated, kind yet spiky. 

Snape was sleeping on his front, his right arm stretched out with a hand possessively splayed upon her belly, his face turned towards her. 

His severe features were slackened in sleep, softening the appearance of his deathly pale skin. The lines around his brows were less pronounced, his mouth full-lipped and slightly open, rather than the thin, pinched slash he usually wore. It looked inviting, and she had the strangest urge to kiss the parted, plump lips, remembering how he had kissed her with such passion a few hours before. 

He was snoring a little. His eyelids looked gossamer thin, criss-crossed with blue veins that betrayed a fundamental level of exhaustion. Snape’s eyelashes were surprisingly long and thick, brushing against the tops of his pale cheeks, black on white in a stark contrast. Untidy black hair was strewn about the pillow in untidy strands, and there was a definite sheen of oiliness to it. 

Hermione felt incredibly awkward. She had allowed the Headmaster to take her virginity during the night, and although it had been consensual (well, as consensual as sex can be when both participants are under a dark compulsion curse) and rather enjoyable, it was still bum-clenchingly embarrassing to wake up next to a teacher. 

Taking advantage of his slumber, she wriggled sideways out of the bed, trying not to disturb him and allowing his hand to slip from her stomach to the mattress as she slithered to the floor. Heading straight for that beautiful bathroom and closing the door tight behind her, she set the shower to run, threw off the pyjama vest which was the only garment she was still wearing, and stepped into the stone cubicle, revelling in the hot water pounding on top of her head, circling her neck so that the strong jet pummelled the sore muscles there, and in her back and shoulders.

Bliss. Now, how long could she stay in here?

-xxx-

Severus opened his eyes as soon as he heard the bathroom door fully close. He had, of course, woken as soon as Miss Granger began to move, a life lived under the constant threat of death made one more immediately cautious than most people.   
What the fuck had his hand been doing on her breast? Had he done that, during the night? He supposed he must have, since Miss Granger was unlikely to have grabbed her hated professor’s hand and placed it on her own tit. 

It was a great pity, and a rather a personal embarrassment, that he felt no remorse for his manhandling of a student, only the low thrum of arousal at how soft her skin had felt under his hand, and his early morning wood was certainly more … pronounced than usual. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out deeply, hoping that this was a mere case of a natural morning erection rather than the first grasp of the compulsion making itself heard again. 

Listening to the shower run, he heard her rifle through the many bottles that were on the shelf there, for he liked to experiment with brewing his own toiletries, and mentally ran through his plan for the day, wishing that a communal shower was on the agenda. 

As if, old boy. 

They would contact Lupin through the Floo, and he would take her to visit Grimmauld Place, that was of course, now her sole property. He wanted Miss Granger to tell the wolf about the Horcruxes, so that the former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor could understand the complexity of what they were trying to achieve. 

Unfortunately, taking down the Dark Lord would be only the first part of the plan, since there were many who followed his ideals now, deviant souls who had responded to his skewed leadership and who had infiltrated the Ministry and the school.   
Severus looked up as the bathroom door opened and Granger exited, squeezing her hair dry with a towel and wearing his green towelling bathrobe, which was so long it was almost trailing on the floor, the long sash wrapped twice around her. His traitorous cock lurched again at the sight of this young, brilliant witch in his chambers. The only women he’d had in here previously had been paid by the hour and swiftly dispatched back to Knockturn Alley after he’d completed the agreed transaction. 

He summoned his wand neatly into his hand from the bedside cabinet and aimed it at her, transfiguring the bathrobe into a plain set of work robes that the students wore around the school, and a charm that dried her mess of damp frizzy hair into something that looked far too attractive for his current semi-aroused state to cope with. 

“Thank you, Sir,” she smiled, running a hand through the soft curls in a way that made him want to do it too. 

“You cannot visit Grimmauld Place in your pyjamas,” he replied, brushing away her thanks. “And nor can I have you running about the corridors in that state, back to Gryffindor Tower whilst there are students and professors everywhere, as it is break time. Now, if you would kindly wait in my office whilst I attire myself, we shall then proceed as planned.”

She nodded, and headed for the door in the panelling that led out to the office. Severus heaved himself out of the bed and into the shower, which he had never had to use still wet from a previous occupant before. He was certainly not thinking about her lack of underwear beneath the robes he had conjured for her. 

-xxx-

“Lupin!”

Professor Snape was barking at the green flames in his office fireplace, a huge structure that was flanked by two iron phoenixes, into which he had just thrown the Floo powder, before hearing a voice respond and sticking his head fully inside. She could not hear what he was saying, nor what Lupin was responding. 

After a few minutes, he removed his head from the fire, stood up, and gestured that she should step through.

Whirling through the Floo and arriving seconds later in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, so familiar that she felt like crying, Hermione launched herself into Lupin’s arms and was embraced in return, so tightly that it took her breath away. 

She was still in his arms, lifted from the floor, when Snape stepped elegantly over the grate, brushing some imaginary soot from his coat as he waited for the two of them to compose themselves. He looked oddly displeased, and Hermione wondered why, before remembering that these two wizards had been sworn enemies, and had now been thrown together by necessity of circumstance. 

Extricating herself from Lupin’s hug, she took a step back and looked at him. He looked shabbier than ever, wearing a baggy brown cardigan that seemed too big and hung from his thinner frame, and he looked like he could do with a good wash. His sandy blond hair was greyer, and the scars on his face looked even more livid than before. His eyes were lined with purple streaks underneath, and he looked exhausted. 

“Hermione.”

He smiled, as if in relief, before sinking into wooden kitchen chair. 

“I’m here, Remus,” she replied, sitting down next to him and taking hold of his cold hand. 

“Thank Merlin one of you is still here. I am so very sorry for your very great loss, Hermione.”

“And I for you. I saw … I saw Tonks. You know, that night.”

Lupin gave a tight nod, as if not trusting himself to say any more, lest he release too much unbidden emotion. Not that she’d have blamed him. 

Professor Snape had not yet joined them at the table. 

“Have you eaten yet this morning, Lupin?”

“Not yet.”

“But the elf has delivered your food?”

“He has. It’s under a stasis charm, on top of the cooker. It seems to be rather a lot, this morning.”

“Of course, it is,” Snape retorted. “I knew that Miss Granger and myself would be coming, and unable to eat breakfast in the Great Hall, so I arranged for the elf to bring enough for three. Now, let us eat.”

Hermione watched in surprise as Snape made a few movements with his wand that removed the stasis charm and sent three plates of mouth-watering English breakfast towards them – eggs, bacon, toast, mushrooms, tomatoes and sausages, along with a jug of pumpkin juice. Lupin jumped up and fetched glasses and cutlery from the huge wooden dresser that ran along one wall of the kitchen. Her kitchen now, she supposed. 

So, the Headmaster had been sending Remus food every day, feeding him regularly from the Hogwarts kitchens, even deputising an elf to bring him whatever the school was eating? How … kind and thoughtful, and yet he had not even mentioned it to her. It seemed he was not a man who sought gratitude, and it must be a regular arrangement, for neither wizard acknowledged it. Her stomach rumbling, and hunger took over curiosity as she tucked into her breakfast, far preferring the Grimmauld Place kitchen to eating in the Great Hall, now it was under the suspicious eyes of the Death Eaters. 

At length, they sat back, drinking tea that Lupin had made on the stove, the Muggle way, seeming to prefer not to use his wand. 

“Severus,” he began. “Let us discuss the matter in hand. Where can we go from here?”

Snape looked at both her and Lupin, as if assessing whether he trusted them. 

“We need to eliminate the Dark Lord, of that there is no question. Even after he is gone it will take some work to stabilise the country again, for there are many Death Eaters who will not relinquish their new power and status without a fight. But Tom Riddle must be our priority, and the key to taking down the Dark Lord is the snake.”

“The snake?”

“Yes, Nagini, his pet, of sorts. Miss Granger, would you explain why?”

Hermione turned to her friend. 

“Remus, Voldemort’s snake, it is a Horcrux.”

The werewolf leapt to his feet in shock. 

“A what?”

“Sit down, Lupin,” Severus told him, silkily. “You are a Defence professor and you know very well what a Horcrux is. But there is more to tell you.”

“More? Hermione, how can there be more?”

She swallowed, hard. 

“Voldemort made more than one Horcrux,” she told him, not enjoying the horror that was widening his eyes. “He initially planned to split his soul seven ways, making six Horcruxes and leaving the seventh part inside his own body.”

“Initially planned?”

“There ended up being an unintended eighth part,” she replied, her eyes filling with painful tears.

“Harry,” he said, flatly. 

“Yes,” she sobbed. “Harry. Voldemort killed a part of his own soul when he murdered Harry.”

Lupin bit down hard on his clenched fist, in clear distress.

“What of the others? Aside from the snake?”

“They are all destroyed. The first was Tom Riddle’s diary, the book that forced Ginny to open the Chamber of Secrets?”

“Dumbledore told me about that diary and what happened with the Chamber, but not that it was a Horcrux.”

“It seems that Albus did not tell anyone about the Horcruxes, with the exception of Mr Potter,” interjected Snape. 

“Well,” Hermione continued, “Harry stabbed that diary with a Basilisk fang in our second year. The venom within inadvertently killed the piece of soul contained within.”

Lupin whistled low, as if horrified and impressed in equal measure. 

“And the rest?”

“Dumbledore had identified many of them. There was a ring, an old ring that used to belong to Salazar Slytherin, which he went and found before he even told Harry about the Horcruxes.”

“This was how Albus sustained the curse to his hand,” Snape explained. “The Dark Lord would not have left his Horcruxes without multiple layers of magical protection, after what happened with the diary.”

“That’s right,” she said. “There was also a cup that belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, we found it in the Lestrange’s vault at Gringotts, Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem that was in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, and a locket that was also from Salazar Slytherin. We found that around Umbridge’s neck at the Ministry.”

“And you have destroyed all these?” Lupin asked, incredulously. 

“Yes. Well, not alone. Harry, Ron and myself. We started searching for them right after we Apparated away from Bill and Fleur’s wedding.”

“You are astounding.”

“And that, Lupin, was my reaction also,” Snape agreed. 

“All those things I heard about in the Prophet and on the wizarding radio. The raid on Gringotts, getting caught at the Ministry … this is what the three of you were doing.”

Remus shook his head, as if to clear an infestation of Luna’s imaginary Wrackspurts. 

“Where do we …?”

“The snake is the key,” Snape answered. “Nagini must be killed before the Dark Lord. Once this is done, he will be as mortal as the rest of us, and can be felled with nothing more than a simple Avada. The difficulty is that he allows no one near the snake. She is mostly kept in a magical golden sphere, only coming out to feed. But she grows fat and unhealthy through lack of exercise, and not wanting to risk her life and therefore the loss of his final Horcrux, I believe he will soon attempt to loosen her restrictions, whilst keeping her under his complete control.”

“Couldn’t he just make more Horcruxes?” she asked, genuinely worried. 

“That would be impossible, even for the Dark Lord and his phenomenal command of sorcery. He has already split his soul seven times, and it would have been damaged enough after one. The tiny, insubstantial sliver of soul that remains inside him would not be strong enough for him to risk creating even one more. It would be tantamount to suicide,” Snape replied, quietly. “It is why he now seems less than human.”

“Killing the snake is going to be down to you, isn’t it, Sir?” 

“Possibly. It depends whether he takes Nagini from the Little Hangleton house to any of the other places he visits. I can observe him at the times when the Inner Circle are called to meetings, and other similar occasions, and of course when he visits the school, but we need other spies, other lookouts, to cover other places, especially at the Ministry.”

“Kingsley,” Lupin said, quickly. “He would be the only one we can place there. But it would put him straight in the line of fire, a spy hiding in plain sight.”

“And where do you think I reside, Lupin? And have done for years, since the return of the Dark Lord?”

Remus looked down at his empty plate, a shamed expression on his face, but did not answer. Snape was right. 

“Where is Kingsley?”

“He and his wife have taken refuge in the Burrow. We correspond by owl and Floo.”

“I agree that it needs to be Shacklebolt that we station inside the Ministry, but have no current idea how to do this. Can you arrange a meeting for next time we are here? I suggest that nights are better.”

“I’m sure that I can, but Hermione? Won’t her absence from the school be noted?”

“Do not trouble yourself with that. I am ensuring Miss Granger’s continued safety from those in the castle who would seek to do her harm.”

Hermione did not miss the quizzical look that Remus gave her, and saw his eyes avert to her bare feet, which she guiltily tucked away under the chair, out of his line of sight. He cast his wolf Patronus with a pained expression, for Tonks’ Patronus had matched his own, sending a message for Kingsley. 

“Have you heard anything from Fleur?” she asked. 

“Not a thing. To watch one’s husband cut down in cold blood … and they had only just found out they were expecting.”

“Miss Delacour – Mrs Weasley, she is with child?” Snape asked. 

“She is.”

“Then it is even more important that we bring her into our alliance. The Dark Lord’s followers are everywhere – Snatchers, in particular. If she attempts to return home to her family in France she will be thwarted, there is little doubt.”

The silence that fell across their gathering of three indicated that they all knew what he meant by thwarted. Fleur would be captured and made an example of as an opponent to the Dark Lord. Bill Weasley’s child would never get the chance to live. Yes, they needed to find her, and quickly. 

Hermione stood up and stepped across to the kitchen fire, throwing in some Floo powder and calling out for Shell Cottage, Bill and Fleur’s seaside home in Tinworth, but the call went unanswered, the flames flickering but nothing more. She turned around to see Remus looking at her, but Snape’s eyes were downcast and his pale hand was clutching hard to the table top. Was he okay?

“Can we visit?”

“Give her time, Hermione. She knows you are alive and trying to contact her. She may be holed up and licking her wounds, as we all are,” Lupin advised, gesturing for her to return to the table. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt’s lynx Patronus came leaping through the wall just then, spiralling in the air and speaking with the former Auror’s deep voice, confirming that he and his wife would attend Grimmauld Place in three days hence, at midnight. 

“We will be here,” Snape replied. “Now, we must return to the castle before the end of the lesson period, so that Miss Granger can return to Gryffindor Tower undisturbed.”

He got up uncharacteristically awkwardly, fussing with his coat and pushing a rough hand through his hair. Hermione wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him make such a casual gesture before. He opened the Floo connection and called out for his own office, ushering her through first. 

-xxx-

As Hermione stepped through and he made to follow her, Lupin caught hold of his arm. Instinctively, Severus snatched it away. The compulsion was beginning to beat inside him like a steady drum, and it had been getting worse for the last twenty minutes or so. He wanted no one’s hands on him … except hers. 

“Is there something I’m missing here, Snape?”

“I cannot imagine what you mean, Lupin,” he replied, smoothly. 

“Hermione. Here with you, barefoot and in robes that clearly aren’t hers. They’re green, for a start. What is going on?”

“That is not one bit your concern. Rest assured that I take my protection of Miss Granger extremely seriously.”

Realising that his reply was cryptic but not wishing to expand further, since the truth was probably rather close to what Lupin was insinuating, and his growing erection would soon demonstrate that, he stalked into the Floo and spun back to his office, landing far more heavily than he usually did, since he was distracted by the blood that was rushing to his groin. He stooped down on the hearth rug, a little winded by the shitty landing. 

“Sir! Are you alright?”

He did not answer, but breathed heavily, lifting his eyes to hers. She would know.

“Are you compelled?”

“I am. I apologise, Granger. Rest assured I will not hold you to any agreement we made in the heat of the moment last night. You are entirely free to leave this office at any time.”

She slipped her rather lovely carved wand from her sleeve, and cast a Finite Incantatum upon her robes, turning them back into the green bathrobe he had conjured them from. 

“We both agreed to help one another, Professor. Neither of us should be in pain if the other is able to relieve it?”

Fucking Merlin, he wanted her. 

Standing up, and not taking his eyes from hers, he took her hand and led her back into the bedchamber they had left two hours before, the bed had been freshly made by his house-elves. Severus kicked off his boots and removed his long coat, slipping his belt from around his hips and opening the top button of his trousers. Granger was looking at him, watching him. 

“May I?” he asked, taking hold of the sash around her waist. 

She nodded, although he could see she was biting the inside of her cheek. He was hardly surprised. What a disgusting situation for a young witch to be in.

He pulled, and the sash opened, causing the bathrobe to fall open, revealing her nakedness beneath it. Egged on by the compulsion, he could not help but push the garment from her shoulders, enjoying the way it slithered to the floor, and her little gasp as he did so. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms, embrace her, ensure she knew how desirable she was, and kiss her mouth – but his confidence deserted him. Broad daylight was very different to the black darkness of the middle of the night where he had spewed filth in the ear of this child without compunction. 

“No doubt you wish to face away from me?”

She looked frightened. 

“Um … I suppose so?”

He guided her towards the bed, laying down on it and drawing her to him, her back to his chest. 

“I have to touch you, Miss Granger. I cannot help it. Not if I am to satisfy the compulsion.”

“It’s okay. Do what you need to do.”

The chamber was warm and sunny, but he summoned a sheet to cover them both anyway, in an attempt to make her feel more comfortable and less exposed. Sliding an arm over her, he ran his hand up her thigh and over her hip, continuing over her stomach and towards her breasts. At this angle he could touch them both with one hand, playing two nipples with his hand opened wide, one under his thumb and the other under his smallest finger. 

He felt her sharp intake of breath, and it aroused him further. Hating himself, he ground his covered erection against her back, taking a handful of warm tit and playing with it. Severus pushed his long nose into her hair and began to nip at her earlobe, just managing to restrain himself from pushing his tongue inside – ye Gods, he wanted to explore every inch of this girl with his fingers and his mouth. 

Suddenly, her body shivered. 

“Are you cold?”

“No, I think it’s the compulsion,” she replied. “The more you … touch me, the more I seem to want you to.”

He kept his mouth in position by her ear.

“Are you aroused by me, Granger?”

“Yes, Sir. Very much so.”

He groaned in resignation, and began to quickly release his cock, pushing his trousers and shorts down his thighs a little. He pressed his bare groin back against her arse, and returned his fingers to gently tweaking her nipples into hardened points, gratified to hear a little moan of pleasure. He could almost fool himself this was real, this fake desire that she had for him. 

“The more I touch you, the more my compulsion quietens. It seems we are working against one another. For one of us to achieve relief, it results in the worsening of symptoms for the other.”

“Is, er, climax the most complete relief?”

“It is in most compulsion curses, and seems to be the case here. Since our mutual endeavours last night, it has been many hours since we have been troubled by symptoms.”

“I suggest we do that, then,” she replied, in a matter-of-fact tone that made him smirk, and he was rather relieved that she couldn’t see him. 

“Do you wish me to assist you?”

“You’ll have to, I’m afraid. If I attempt to touch myself my fingers get hexed.”

“That is interesting. I can seek relief from my own hand, but not climax.”

“Well, I wouldn’t really know much about that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He leaned over her, and could see the side of her face burning with a red blush. 

“I’ve never had an orgasm before last night, Professor.”

Holy bloody fuck, and mother of Circe. 

She’d not only been a virgin, but had also had her first ever orgasm by way of his greedy mouth?

“I apologise, Granger. I had no idea.”

“There’s no need to apologise, Sir. I made the decision. And it was, well, really nice, actually.”

The compulsion chose that moment to kick him in the balls, forcing his unwilling tongue. 

“In that case, may I interest you in another?” he asked, a little disgusted at his own lasciviousness. 

His hand was already travelling down from her breasts, skimming her stomach and delving between her legs, as she mm-hmmed her agreement, seemingly and thankfully unbothered by his sleazy overtures. At his first touch of her damp and welcoming folds, Severus groaned involuntarily against her ear, allowing his hot breath to whisper through her hair and vibrate against the sensitive shell. 

In broad daylight, this little witch wanted him. He found it surprisingly easy to push the ‘but’ to the back of his mind. 

Sliding his hands between her thighs, he lifted the top one and pulled it backwards over his own leg, lining up his solid erection with her tight entrance that he had claimed for his own the night before.

He spread her labia with one hand, and dipped one long finger inside to tickle her clitoris, distracting her attention from any residual ache as he pressed his cock into her, pushing his way into the narrow channel that felt like heaven on earth. Severus tried to be as gentle as he could, despite every synapse screaming at him to pump into her like an express train. 

His compulsion was being further satisfied with every stroke. There would be no excuse to fuck her in such a manner, however much he might want to. He had not bargained on Miss Granger’s increasing enthusiasm as her own compulsion built. 

“Could you rub me faster?” she whispered, grinding her pubis against his hand. “Please?”

“As if you have need to say please,” he growled, adding two more fingers to her clit and frigging her faster. “To feel you come is my pleasure.”

A flurry of frantic little gasps told him that she was close, and he stilled the movement of his invading penis as she reached her peak, went stiff in his arms as he strummed her, and then – she released. Her hips began thrusting and writhing as she shook her orgasm free, she was fucking him. 

He grasped her hip with his wet fingers, holding her tightly as he began pumping into her, all politeness forgotten as he chased his own climax, his balls tightening with the pressure. 

There was no sound apart from the frantic breathing of two magical beings, and the long, deep groan of relief as he spilled himself inside her. His cock pulsed with release as he jerked out his orgasm with guilty relief, clutching tight to her hip. 

She remained facing away from him as their breathing slowed. Wandlessly, he cleansed them both, and covered her with the sheet, for it had fallen to their feet during their fuck. 

Fuck? It had felt far more like lovemaking. 

Get a grip, Severus. 

-xxx-

“We are partway through afternoon lessons. Everyone will be in their classrooms. I suggest that now would be a good time for you to return to Gryffindor Tower.”

Taking this as her cue to leave, Hermione all but leapt from the bed, grabbing her vest from the chamber floor to cover at least some of her nudity, and headed straight for the door to the office, where she would find her pyjama shorts still behind his desk, where he had pulled them so slowly and sensuously from her body the night before. 

She did not relish the thought of negotiating Hogwarts’ corridors in a state of undress but had little choice. 

“Wait.”

His deep voice resonated from the doorway, as she was pulling on the shorts and scraping her fingers through her hair to tidy it, finding it still softly curled from his spell earlier, rather than frizzy, rough and tangled. 

“I am afraid that you look … debauched. And by that, I mean, debauched in the best way. Unfortunately, that is not what is expected of me, in order to keep our cover.” 

He slunk across the room towards her like a languid panther, stroking the side of her neck.

“I have to put some marks on you. Some indication of struggle. The Death Eaters will be looking for these signs. Please, forgive me.”

Magic thrummed through the hand that was on her neck, and then he ran his fingers across the side of her lip and under her eyes. Then, screwing up his forehead and mouth as if it caused him pain, he ran his hand gently over her right wrist, and she watched the dark bruising appear painlessly under his touch. That must be what was on her face too. She must look a complete mess, and this was confirmed by his visible wince as he looked at her. 

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. This is just a role we are playing in order to stay alive. You haven’t hurt me.”

“Just a role we are playing,” he repeated, brushing his fingertips up her bare upper arm as he stepped back from her, his eyes blazing with what appeared to be an intense sadness.

Merlin, how bad were her fake injuries that he would look at her like that?

He released the wards on the main office door, and opened it for her. It was like leaving a lover, but yet it wasn’t, although she wasn’t sure that two shags qualified her to know very much at all. 

Not trusting herself to say anything that wouldn’t sound incredibly stupid, she gave the dour Headmaster a single nod of farewell, which he returned, before tiptoeing barefoot down the circular staircase, praying fervently that she didn’t have the bad luck to run into anyone before reaching the common room.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m fucking terrified, Orla. I wake up every day not knowing if it will be today that the Dark Lord loses patience with me and just goes ahead and kills me. Or if I’m going to get tortured. I think that might be even worse, just wanting to die but not being allowed to.”

Thankful to find the corridors free of students, who were all in their afternoon lessons, Hermione climbed through the portrait hole of Gryffindor Tower, which was really still just an open hole in the wall with an empty frame hanging pathetically sideways, since all the portraits had been banished on Voldemort’s orders. She was not expecting Seamus Finnegan to sit bolt upright from his prone position on the common room sofa in shock at the sight of her. 

“Fecking hell, Hermione!” he shouted, his Irish accent broad and loud. “What the bloody hell happened to you?”

Seamus leapt up from the sofa and bounded over to her, and as he approached she could see his face was a mess of cuts and bruises, as if he had been in a fight. She could see there was a cloth filled with ice on the small table next to him, he must have been treating his face. 

“Never mind me,” she answered, reaching out and drawing him into a hug, “why are you here and not in class, and what happened to you too?”

They held each other for a few seconds of desperate comfort before Seamus pulled back so that he could examine her face. 

“I got mouthy in Muggle Studies again. Carrow, the female Carrow, not that you can really tell the difference, was insulting mixed marriages, saying they were an abomination and produce retarded kids. Like me Mam and Dad were deviant, or something. Well, I wasn’t going to stand for that. Showed her just how fucking retarded I was, alright, and after she attacked me for speaking my mind I walked out of the classroom. I’m going to no more of her lessons, I promise ye that. They’ll have to drag me there.”

“But what did she do to produce this?” Hermione asked, gingerly touching the wounds on the side of his face. 

“Same bastard magical whip that her brother used on me in Dark Arts. Six lashes, round the face.”

Her hands flew to her mouth in shock.

“They can’t do that, surely? That’s abhorrent, and certainly not fair discipline!”

“That’s Hogwarts, Hermione. That’s how it’s been since Snape became Headmaster, although it’s worse now. Now … Harry’s gone.”

She shook her head, as if by refusing to believe it, it would somehow, miraculously, not be true. 

“It doesn’t look like you’re doing any better yourself, though. Look at the state of ye! What happened, and where have you been all night? Parvati said that Carrow bitch dragged you from your bed sometime after midnight?”

Hermione remembered that her face and wrists were bruised, and that she was still dressed in last night’s pyjamas, but she was reluctant to denigrate Professor Snape to Seamus, not if she wanted her fellow Gryffindor to trust the Headmaster in the future. 

“Special treatment for Muggle-borns, Seamus, and I’m not the only one. Are you aware of what’s happening to Orla Roach?”

“Hufflepuff Orla? No. I don’t really know the girl.”

“There are … conditions, Seamus, in which she and I, as Mudbloods, are permitted to study here. This means providing very particular services that fulfil the deviant needs of our resident Death Eaters. Services that pure or half-bloods would not be obliged to supply.”

Hermione waited for her words to sink in, watching his face turn from confusion, to comprehension, and finally, to disgust. What could he say? He was being treated just as cruelly, if his newest injuries were anything to go by. 

“We need to fight these bastards. Why are we sitting here? But where the hell would we even start?”

Although sorely tempted to reveal all, Hermione decided that now was not the time to tell Seamus everything she had learned about Severus Snape. Her hot-headed Irish friend needed and deserved a more concrete plan before they unleashed his righteous Gryffindor fury upon the Death Eaters. But there was no doubt that Seamus Finnigan would be a formidable force in their corner, when the time came for … whatever it was that they were going to do. 

“I have no idea,” she conceded, telling herself that at least that much was not a lie, and rubbing his arm in what she hoped was a comforting manner. “But right now, I’m going to get washed and changed before the common room fills up. I want to catch up on everything I’ve missed today, do you have notes from this morning’s lessons? I know you don’t have this afternoon’s, but I don’t take Muggle Studies anyway.”

“Sure, I have.”

He summoned a few pieces of scrappy parchment from his bookbag, which was laying on the floor by the sofa he had risen from, and thrust them into her hands. 

“Thanks, Seamus. I’ll be back down in time for dinner, meet you here and we’ll go down together? I could do with the moral support.”

“Sure, no problem. Get some ice on your neck, Hermione. That filthy Death Eater must have a hell of a grip.”

He touched her neck gently, tracing the conjured bruises that Snape must have left there. Giving him a tight smile, she turned and sped up the stairs that led to the girls’ dormitories, running into their room and past Parvati’s bed, heading for the bathroom. 

The sight that met her eyes was not a pretty one. As well as the bruising on her wrists that she could see, there was distinct bruising in the shape of choking fingers around her throat, her lip appeared to be split, as Orla’s had on that first day, and her eyes looked as if she hadn’t slept for a week, with livid dark circles underneath. He had done a good job. She certainly looked ravaged and abused. It was rather disturbing. 

If the other Death Eaters were looking for signs that Snape had taken her relentlessly and without mercy, they were all there for open viewing, and not in a subtle way. Then again, Death Eaters were not known for their subtlety. She wasn’t looking forward to the unwelcome attention that her appearance would invite at dinner. 

Opting not to think about that just yet, she threw her pyjamas gratefully in the laundry basket and dressed in her uniform before plopping herself down in the centre of her bed and spreading her books around her, taking up Seamus’ less-than-copious notes from that morning’s classes, and resolving to have caught up by the time the dinner bell rang. 

Well, caught up on that morning, anyway. The eight months she’d missed were still very much a catch-up work in progress. 

-xxx-

Orla felt Draco Malfoy’s eyes upon her across the Great Hall as she rose from the Hufflepuff table after dinner. Thinking that he might want to talk to her, rather than leaving the hall and heading for her common room, she instead excused herself from her friends and joined the small number of students who were venturing outside into the grounds to enjoy the warm evening, as their time finally their own until curfew. 

She wandered a little way from the castle, finding a stone wall to sit on, part way between the castle and Hagrid’s hut. It was not long before she heard movement close behind her. 

“Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not.”

Orla patted the wall next to her, partly covered in moss, and Draco slung his legs over it, sitting beside her and looking down the hill towards the gamekeeper’s hut, where they could see Hagrid sitting on the steps, making something with a long tree branch and chattering away to a slobbery black dog. 

“How are you?” he asked, and she could feel him looking at her, and she supposed he was scrutinising her for more injuries. 

“Not so bad.”

“Yaxley was in the castle again on Friday.”

“He was, yes,” she replied, non-committally, hoping that Draco wouldn’t ask for details that she would prefer to forget. 

“Did he …?”

“Yes. He did.”

Orla heard him swear under his breath, and she finally turned to face him. 

“You can’t stop him, Draco.”

“I want to.”

“Well, you can’t.”

Malfoy looked away from her and back down the hill again, his blue eyes staring angrily from beneath a curtain of white-blond hair. 

“I’m fucking terrified, Orla. I wake up every day not knowing if it will be today that the Dark Lord loses patience with me and just goes ahead and kills me. Or if I’m going to get tortured. I think that might be even worse, just wanting to die but not being allowed to.”

“All of us are scared, Draco, these are uncertain times, and …”

“I want to run,” he interrupted, in a surprisingly forceful tone. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“It’s all I can think about; how easy it would be to run. How long would I last? Would Voldemort send Death Eaters after me, or would he just let me go, write me off as no great loss?”

Draco spoke in a quiet but impassioned voice, and Orla had no doubt he meant everything he was saying. 

“You can’t run, you’d be found. You know you would,” she replied, gently. 

“How do you know? You were in hiding for months, you told me, before coming back to join the other students for the battle. How did you do that?”

“I hid in plain sight, in the Muggle world,” she agreed, “but every day I was terrified, so scared that the next knock on the door would be the Ministry registration committee, come to arrest me.”

“But you know how to do it? Tell me.”

Orla sighed. It seemed that Draco was not going to be put off the idea, and who was she to dictate to him, anyway? 

“My parents are Muggles, and I was raised wholly in the Muggle world, until I was eleven and found out I was a witch. I understand how it works, you know, Muggle life, but you don’t, Draco. You are a pureblood wizard, you have no concept of what you will need to do to blend in.”

“I will if you come with me, and show me.”

He dropped his bombshell, and left it pregnant in the air for her to digest. 

“I can’t …” she began. 

“Before you say I can’t,” Draco interrupted, “will you at least think about it? I mean, really think about it, properly.”

He grabbed both her hands, exactly as he had done when the two of them were secreted in Helga’s Hideaway together. 

“I can’t stay here, Orla. And neither can you.”

Before she could answer, they were interrupted by a black-clad Death Eater storming down the hill towards them. Walden Macnair, and he did not look at all happy. When he reached them, not even slightly out of breath, he looked disapprovingly at their joined hands.

“What is this, Malfoy?” he sneered. “I hope you are not attempting to interfere with the property of one of your brothers?”

“Orla is no one’s property, Macnair,” Draco replied, angrily, not letting go of her hands, despite her pulling gently to release herself. 

“I don’t think Yaxley would see it that way. Perhaps we should ask him?”

“Ask whoever you want, I don’t care. She is my friend, we’re not doing anything wrong.”

Draco’s face had blanched even paler than his usual white, and Orla suspected that his bravery was no more than words, as he looked bloody terrified. 

“Since when were Slytherins friends with Hufflepuffs? Especially Mudblood Hufflepuffs. I doubt that your father would approve, Malfoy.”

“I don’t give a shit what my father thinks, anymore. You would have noticed, if you kept your face out of the buffet and your fingers out of the whores long enough to look around you.”

Macnair purpled with anger, and he leaned in close to Draco so that he was practically hissing in his face. 

“Oh, I’ll have you, you pampered little shit. I’ll have you for that. You mark my words. I can’t touch you now, but trust me – I will.”

“I’ll look forward to it, Walden,” Draco replied, in an arrogant tone and using Macnair’s given name as a pointed mark of disrespect. “Now, if you’ve finished? We were having a private conversation.”

Macnair spun around so violently that his Death Eater robe lashed Orla around the back of the head, and stalked back up the hill towards the castle. 

They were still holding hands, and Orla’s realised that his were trembling. 

“What did you do that for?” she asked, concerned. 

“He’s an arsehole.”

“He’s an arsehole that can get you killed.”

“He won’t, because I won’t be here to find out. Now, are you with me?”

Draco’s eyes were alight with both enthusiasm and fear. It was a tempting suggestion. But she barely knew him. This was only their second proper conversation, and now he was asking her to run away with him – spend their days in each other’s sole company, evading Death Eaters and Snatchers?

“Draco, I don’t think so. Here at school, I don’t have to run. I have security, I’m being fed and educated. I’m here with Voldemort’s approval and I’m not being hunted by the Muggle-born registration committee. I feel safe here.”

He scoffed, and his usually handsome face looked most unattractive with the gesture. 

“Safe. Sure, Orla. Safe until the next time Yaxley turns up and wants to rape you and hurt you. Safe until the next Death Eater the Dark Lord wants you to service.”

She winced, and finally pulled her hands out of his, feeling strangely bereft at the loss of his warmth. Turning away from him and staring at the Forbidden Forest on the edge of the school grounds, she knew he was looking at her, his gaze icy but sincere. 

“This isn’t living. We can’t let him win,” he said, quietly. 

“And what do you suggest we do? I’m not a fighter, I’m not brave, I’m not clever. I am a bloody Hufflepuff, for Merlin’s sake, Malfoy.”

He smirked, and she couldn’t help the same creeping to her lips as she brought up the old house rivalries. Puffs were much braver than they gave themselves credit for, and they both knew it. 

“Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking. You know how to hide us, keep us safe. I can do the rest,” he told her, earnestly. 

Orla looked at him again. 

“How would we even get out of the castle, Draco? The wards are impenetrable, and there’ll be no jolly trips to Hogsmeade where we can slip off to the Apparition point.”

“I know how,” he replied, with a touch of arrogance.

“You do? Tell me.”

“No. Not until you agree to come with me.”

“Now that is very Slytherin.”

“Snakes will use all available methods to achieve their ends,” he grinned. 

“So I’ve heard,” she replied, returning his smile, and taking up his hand again. 

At the same time, Walden Macnair was ascending the spiral staircase that led to Snape’s office, having some information on Draco Malfoy and Yaxley’s Mudblood that he was breathlessly desperate to impart. 

-xxx-

“Hello? ‘Ermionee? Are you there?”

Remus ran down the stairs of Grimmauld Place as he heard the disembodied voice from the kitchen. Bursting through the door he saw the head of Fleur Delacour in the fire, and he rushed over to it, kneeling on the hearth so that she could see him.

“Fleur?”

“Oo is zis? Where is ‘Ermionee?”

“It is I, Remus Lupin. Hermione is at Hogwarts, at school, but she was here yesterday, trying to call you through the fire.”

“Oh, Remus. I am sorry, I could not see you clearly. ‘Ow are you, mon ami?”

“As well as you, I should expect. May I come through, or do you wish to come here? We can talk better face-to face than through the Floo.”

“You come through. I am not dressed to leave the ‘ouse.”

Brushing down the front of the lumpy brown cardigan that he had been wearing for the last three days in order to chase off any stray crumbs, Remus stood and stepped into the green flames and through the Floo connection that Fleur had opened from her end. He was unsurprised to find himself in the living room of Shell Cottage. Fleur had returned to the Secret-Kept home she had shared with Bill during their all-too-brief marriage. His heart ached for her as much as himself. 

“Oh, Fleur.”

He held out his arms for her to approach him, not wanting to push or overwhelm her, but needing to offer whatever comfort he could. She threw herself into them, bumping hard against his chest and beginning to cry - deep, gut-wrenching sobs that echoed his own exact feelings with their sense of desperate loss. He did nothing but hold her until her distress began to subside, having been alone all this time since the battle, she must be in dire need of company and solidarity. 

“Remus. ‘Ow can zey all be gone? That wonderful family. My brave ‘usband, ‘is parents, those children …”

“There is no sense to be made of what happened that night, Fleur. We can only honour their memory by fighting for the causes that they believed in,” Remus told her. 

“What do you mean, fight?”

He guided her to the light blue sofa, impeccably furnished with matching blue and white floral cushions, and sat her down, noticing for the first time her dishevelled state, her dirty hair scraped back, her beautiful face etched with tiredness and the spots of broken blood vessels. 

“Have you been vomiting?” he asked, nodding his head towards her face. 

“Oui, oui. It ees ze bebe. Always with zis sickness. But zis is not important. I asked you, what do you mean, to fight?”

Lupin took a deep breath. 

“There are still a few of us alive that are loyal to the Order of the Phoenix. We believe that we can never stop fighting, not until the task is completely fruitless. I for one, would rather die than lay down and accept Voldemort’s leadership.”

“I am with you too. If I go ze same way as my William, then we shall meet again. If not, then I ‘ave done all I can to make a better world for ‘is child.”

Fleur grabbed hold of both his rough hands and squeezed them tightly in her small, soft ones. 

“But tell me, Remus, ‘oo is with us? ‘Ermionee for sure, but ‘oo else?”

“Kingsley Shacklebolt. He, and his wife Audrina are in hiding at the Burrow. And … Severus.”

“Severus Snape? The ‘Edmaster? Non! ‘E is a terrible man!”

“I can assure you that he is on our side, and always was. I am meeting with him and Kingsley tomorrow night, at midnight, at Grimmauld Place. Will you come?”

She looked slightly offended and gave a rather dramatic, Gallic sniff. 

“Well, of course I will come. I want to see what zis Snape ‘as to say for ‘imself!”

“You will be surprised, Fleur, I promise you. He has been sending food twice a day for me from Hogwarts. He tells me to keep warm and clean. It is as close to care as one could expect from a man so surly. He and Hermione also claim to have formed an alliance whilst at Hogwarts, and they came to see me yesterday, together. She seems to have complete trust in him, and I trust her judgement.”

“Well, zat remains to be seen.”

Lupin fumbled around for a change in the subject. He had invited her tomorrow, and she could make her own judgements. There was nothing further to be said, at this point. 

“We were worried that you may have tried to make your way back to France, home to your family.”

“Ah, non. I need to be ‘ere, in our ‘ome. I feel close to Bill, ‘ere at ze beach. Also, it is such a long way to travel, I would need to Apparate many times, and I am not feeling well enough. It would not be good for ze bebe.”

“That is good. There are many people out there who would do you harm, Fleur. Snatchers have been stationed at all international Apparition points throughout the country, watching for those who are trying to leave the country to escape Voldemort’s regime."

Fleur shuddered. Clearly, this thought had not occurred to her. 

“I am a strong witch. I do not need my Maman.”

“Have you been caring for yourself? Food and warmth?”

“I have been caring enough, but maybe not enough. I cannot stomach much food at ze moment. It is warm weather, but I should be ‘aving a bath, for certain. I must look ‘orrible.”

“You look beautiful, as always, Mrs Weasley,” he replied, enjoying the smile that crept to her exhausted face. “But, if it is not too personal, would you allow me to draw you a bath? It can be an effort in these early weeks of pregnancy, but if the bath is drawn and waiting it is easy for you just to get into it. Tonks … she found that helpful. Of course, I shall leave you to bathe in peace.”

She looked choked, and for a moment Remus thought he had overstepped the mark, but as her eyes filled with tears she was also thanking him, grateful that he would think of such a simple but kind gesture. He left her on the sofa and slipped upstairs to the bathroom, using his wand to set the water to flowing and filled the tub, filling it with restorative essences from the bathroom cupboard and casting a calming spell atop the foam and swirling the magic through the warm water. As a final touch he conjured some small candles and lit them, placing them on the windowsill. 

He was assaulted with an acutely painful memory of doing the same for his wife. 

Her smile of delight as she would enter the bathroom, exhausted from a long day, and from the baby growing inside her, and see the blissful pleasure of a ready bath awaiting her, nothing to do but slip her tired body into it. 

Sometimes Remus would stay, massaging her shoulders or washing her hair, terrified of what was to come as the wizarding world began to crumble around them, but so grateful that this astounding young witch had given him, an older wizard and a werewolf to boot, such a chance as this. A chance to be a husband and father. 

The chance that had been taken away with a single cruel spell cast from the end of Antonin Dolohov’s wand. 

He forced himself to leave and descend the stairs, lest his emotions get the better of him, or her bathwater cooled. 

“Your bathroom awaits,” he smiled, re-entering the living room. “I shall return to Grimmauld Place now, and will see you tomorrow at midnight. However, I am only a Floo call away should you have need of me.”

“You are very kind, Remus Lupin,” Fleur smiled, standing up and heading towards the stairwell.

Lupin’s mouth twitched with a small smile as he threw a handful of powder into the flames, watching them turn green before returning to the empty kitchen from whence he had come. 

-xxx-

The volume of chatter in the Great Hall seemed to rise as the post owls entered, swirling around beneath the enchanted ceiling and looking for their allotted recipients. Severus wished he could cast a silencing charm across the whole room, like a flock of Fwoopers, locked down and quiet. 

He had gone to bed with a headache after a long and fraught meeting with Macnair, who brought to him a story of Draco Malfoy fraternising with Miss Roach that he intended to bring before the Dark Lord, considering this to be base treachery on Draco’s part, since the Muggle-born girl had been promised to Yaxley. 

Severus hoped he had managed to diffuse the situation, but his years of experience with these psychotic fuckers meant that it was likely the subject would raise its ugly head again, most probably in a meeting with Riddle himself. This meant that he would have to attempt to deal with Draco at school level, to save him from even worse punishment at the end of Voldemort’s wand. 

What the fuck did the stupid little bastard think he was doing? Was there not enough Slytherin girls to play romantic fools with? Why did Malfoy feel the need to interfere with the one witch that he shouldn’t? He would arrange to see the boy at break time, and no later. 

The post owls began to drop the morning letters and parcels at the tables, along with many copies of the Daily Prophet, since lots of the students and all the staff had a subscription to have the wizarding newspaper delivered each day, even though it was now fully controlled by the Dark Lord and his pureblood idealists. 

The exclamation of shock and disgust from the students, teachers and even the supervising Death Eaters rang out across the hall before Snape had even unfolded his own copy of today’s paper. As soon as he did, the reason became clear. 

 

***BREAKING NEWS***

Minister for Magic, Pius Thicknesse, has been deemed unfit for purpose and therefore removed from high office. His replacement, as sanctioned by Lord Voldemort, will be Dolores Jane Umbridge, who has kindly agreed to hand over control of the Muggle-born registration committee to her successor, Ranford Travers, in order to take this prime position. 

From everyone here at the Daily Prophet, we wish you all the best, Minister Umbridge.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You filthy, despotic bastard!” snarled Pius, who had managed to free some of his mouth from the crude gag, which was surely meant to be symbolic, since a simple silencing charm would have been more effective. “As if I would want to be Minister under you! The things you’ve had me do! I’ve seen all of them, Riddle, every single one of the heinous acts you’ve had me perform!”

The Dark Mark on Snape’s left arm started to burn even before the mutterings over the Prophet’s headline had reached a crescendo. A quick glance at the other Death Eaters confirmed that they too had all been Summoned – apparently this was to be a full meeting and at a most unusual time. It was clearly important if the Dark Lord felt that the presence of all his servants at the same time was worth the risk of leaving Hogwarts entirely unattended apart from the usual teaching staff. 

Severus rather hoped that Minerva would lead a rebellion whilst they were gone, but this was a little unlikely since they had all been cowed into a state of fear by the dictatorship they were living under. 

Malfoy had already left his place at the Slytherin table and was halfway to the main doors of the Great Hall, as if trying to skulk out unnoticed rather than acknowledge the jealous catcalls of his peers, many of whom had a Death Eater for a parent. Why the stupid bastards would be jealous of Draco’s position as a bearer of the Dark Mark was unfathomable, but more pressing was the fact that Malfoy seemed embarrassed about where he was going, rather than his usual pride or crowing. 

Trailing his eyes across one table from the Slytherins to the Hufflepuffs, Snape saw what he presumed was the reason why. Miss Roach, discreetly following Malfoy’s every move from the corner of her eye. Could Macnair have been correct, was there something between the two seventh-years? If so, neither of them could have made a worse choice of partner in the present climate. 

He led the procession of Death Eaters down the central aisle between the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables, hating every moment of the attention it was bringing him, to be so publicly branded as the leader of this foul group of ‘teachers’. 

There was already a great deal of evidence that today was not going to be a good day, not that there had been many of those since he took the damned position as Headmaster. His compulsion was beginning to grumble, having not seen Miss Granger at all yesterday, and he was now walking towards her where she was seated at the Gryffindor table, their twin curses recognising each other’s proximity with a lurch to his gut. 

Had she felt it too? Her curse was less pronounced than his own, so he hoped that she had been able to simply continue her breakfast and wonder, as he was, what kind of insane psychopath would give that evil little toad the highest-ranking position in wizarding Britain?

They stalked in great number down to the school gates, a motley crew of black-clad wraiths and thugs, racing through the verdant grounds that none of them noticed in their hurry to reach the Apparition point that was just outside the boundary wall. Being headmaster, and commander of the castle wards, Severus could have Apparated from any point inside the school, but he was in no hurry to reach the Dark Lord first and bear his initial wrath alone, should he be displeased, which all signs pointed towards. No, he would travel with the rest and arrive together. 

Touching their wands to their Dark Marks as one, they Apparated to where they had been summoned, Malfoy pulling up his left sleeve most reluctantly, for once again he was a boy amongst men, an infant compared to the rest. 

Surprisingly, when they arrived, they did not find themselves at the Riddle House in Little Hangleton, but instead they landed in an enormous, cold, windowless room tiled with shiny black slate that Severus recognised as being somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry. Everyone’s first glance was taken by the sight of Pius Thicknesse, the former chief Auror, who had been Imperiused by Yaxley to take control of the Ministry from the inside out. Thicknesse was bound and gagged, forced on his knees before Voldemort, who was circling him like a shark around its prey. 

Despite his bindings, Thicknesse looked more lucid and in control than he had in the last year, his eyes were bright and clear and he was obviously finally free of the Imperius curse, but they were full of anger, and even now he was attempting to bite through his gag. His wand was snapped on the floor in front of him, a clear signal that he should not try to fight, but the urge must have been too strong. 

Thicknesse was a powerful wizard, a fair and just man who had trained under Alastor Moody, risen through the ranks of the Aurors and been made Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, taking over the role from Rufus Scrimegeour after he was promoted to Minister. No doubt the prolonged time under the Imperius curse had weakened him, for he would have been aware of everything he was being forced to do, but not able to fight against it.

How had he managed to free himself? He was magically powerful, yes, but freeing oneself from such a long-lasting Imperius should be impossible. Had Yaxley become complacent or careless with reapplying the curse, which needed to be done regularly? Severus could not imagine what else it could have been. 

“Welcome, loyal followers,” Voldemort said softly as they arranged themselves in the chosen venue. “As you can see, and will no doubt have read in the Prophet this morning, Minister Thicknesse is no longer suitable for the role of Minister. He has become a … liability, shall we say?”

“You filthy, despotic bastard!” snarled Pius, who had managed to free some of his mouth from the crude gag, which was surely meant to be symbolic, since a simple silencing charm would have been more effective. “As if I would want to be Minister under you! The things you’ve had me do! I’ve seen all of them, Riddle, every single one of the heinous acts you’ve had me perform!”

Thicknesse was red and enraged, a large vein throbbing visibly in the side of his neck. He was a tall man, and still looked huge even as he knelt on the floor. Voldemort silenced him with a Crucio for his outburst, and the assembled Death Eaters looked on as the former puppet Minister was reduced to a pool of helpless agony on the tiled floor.

“Now that Pius has been so kind as to remain silent, may I introduce you to the new Minister for Magic, Dolores Umbridge.”

A squat little figure, dressed in dark pink, stepped out of the shadows with a small cough. None of them had noticed her upon entering the room, since Thicknesse had been rather a focal point. Umbridge was flanked by Selwyn and Travers, both Death Eaters who had risen to rather high and undeserved ranks under Voldemort’s administration. The three of them together had run the odious Muggle-born Registration Committee with an iron wand, delighting in the punishments they had inflicted on innocent witches and wizards who had been unable to prove magical heritage. Muggle-borns had been denounced as ‘thieves of magic’ and branded a risk to wizarding Britain. Many had been imprisoned, tortured, or worse. 

Severus remembered with a cold shiver this damn witch’s year as Headmistress of Hogwarts, where he had given serious thought to poisoning her morning tea, she had been so vile. Why the Dark Lord hadn’t seen her potential for partisan vitriol and sadistic punishment and inducted her into the Death Eaters he had no idea. Perhaps she was too pink.

“Thank you, My Lord,” she replied, in the same unctuous, patronising tone she had used to Albus Dumbledore at her welcome feast. “I am here to uphold your ideals, ensure that your laws are followed, and that your instructions are carried out to the letter. Penalties for non-compliance, I assure you, will be severe.”

Voldemort smiled, or rather, a twisted parody of a smile that twisted his lipless mouth into an awful sneer. 

“Excellent. Lord Voldemort is pleased to hear this. It will be most beneficial to have a Minister who does not require such … constant instruction.”

Thicknesse howled an incoherent retort, his words not audible but his blind fury apparent. This earned him another vicious round of the Cruciatus Curse that had him bleeding from the mouth, trickling through the white gag that was now caught around his chin. Severus had seen this before. It did not look as if Pius Thicknesse would be leaving this room alive. 

“Thank you, My Lord, for addressing the noise and dissent that was interrupting my speech,” Umbridge simpered, as if she were merely discussing a small annoyance, and not the torture of a man. 

There was every chance that this pink-clad nightmare was as fucking insane as the Dark Lord himself. 

“And you, Travers, are you delighted with your new role?” Voldemort asked the boar-faced wizard standing to her right. 

Travers bowed his head.

“I am, My Lord. I promise you that the registration committee will remain inquisitive and unyielding.”

“Very good. Very good. Now, I shall not detain you long, for you all have places to be, not just here in the Ministry and at Hogwarts, but around the country in the various stations I have placed you in. This is to advise you all, of the new administration. The Ministry will no longer be run by an Imperiused puppet that needs to be controlled, but by this capable witch that shares our ideals and our vision for the wizarding world.”

Severus dared not look across at Umbridge, for if the bitch was smirking, he was liable to hex it from her face. 

“We now have control of all key Ministry departments. Anywhere there is dissent, this will be … quelled, in order that my takeover may be absolute.”

He was stopped by Pius Thicknesse forcing himself to his feet, despite two rounds of Crucio and his hands bound behind his back. The former Auror really did have superior strength, both mental and physical. Little wonder it had taken so long for Yaxley to place an Imperius curse upon him, Thicknesse must have fought it every step of the way. 

“You will never …” he began, but was cut down by an Avada Kedavra from Voldemort’s wand, and his head hit the floor with a sickening thud of finality. 

“You were beginning to bore me,” Voldemort whispered above him, before immediately addressing the Death Eaters again. “Now! You will also find that I have followers in more unexpected places, stationed in such venues as certain Diagon Alley shops, Hogsmeade, international Apparition points, and even within Gringotts. Any suspicious activity is to be reported immediately.”

There was a loud rumble of approval from the assembled ranks. 

“Well then. It is time for you all to return to your allotted roles, and enjoy another glorious day under the benevolent and victorious rule of Lord Voldemort. I have lifted the Apparition restrictions on this room so that you may return quickly. But wait! Before you move. Draco! I should like you to stay behind please, along with you, Macnair, and you, Yaxley. I believe we have a matter of loyalty to resolve. The rest may leave.”

Severus was surprised that he hadn’t also been asked to remain, but having already shattered his soul to save Draco Malfoy’s, he wasn’t all that keen to do it again, against the wishes of the Dark Lord. Lucius barely batted an eyelid at his son being detained, and Severus suspected the older Malfoy must be medicating himself with either alcohol, or a potion that dulled his mind, for he appeared semi-present and unfocused. 

Snape Apparated away, landing neatly in his own office at school, relieved once again to have escaped with his life, because one could never be too sure when appearing before the Dark Lord. He deputised a house-elf to bring a replacement breakfast to his desk, and sent a message to Horace Slughorn, the head of Slytherin house, that he was to be advised when Mr Malfoy returned to school. 

-xxx-

Hermione was in Potions class that afternoon, having finished her brewing first out of all the students present and was now listening to Slughorn drone on about different varieties of sleeping draughts and attempting to ignore the supercilious presence of a Death Eater she didn’t know sitting so close to Slughorn’s desk that he might as well be holding his hand. Her corpulent professor was sweating, she could see the beads gathering in his walrus-type moustache and was just thinking how unpleasant an image it was, when the door was pushed open and the Headmaster walked in. 

“Excuse me, Professor Slughorn, but I have need of some ingredients from your store cupboard for private brewing.”

“Certainly, Headmaster,” Slughorn replied, gesturing towards the door behind his desk. “You know where everything is, of course. Help yourself.”

Hermione saw Snape’s black eyes perform a cursory sweep of the classroom, and they appeared to linger on her for a moment longer everyone else. He looked as neutral as ever, but she thought saw a flicker of something more when his eyes met hers, and he looked over her desk as if to ascertain what she was doing – the truthful answer was nothing, since she’d already finished brewing today’s potion and was waiting for the less able students to catch up. 

Was he being troubled by the compulsion? It was over two full days now since she had bid him farewell in his chamber after their last encounter. Her fake bruises were cleverly beginning to fade just as real ones would do, but they were still rather obvious. 

Orla had caught her eye at dinner that evening and given her a sympathetic look of solidarity, which Hermione had felt wretched returning, knowing that her own ordeal was nothing compared to the abuse that Orla was suffering at the hands of the vile Corban Yaxley. 

After five minutes or so, Snape emerged from the store cupboard carrying three trays of potions ingredients, in vials and small jars, balanced one on top of the other. 

“Do you have any student who has completed their brewing, Horace, who would be interested in assisting me not only with carrying these, but with an extra project?”

Hermione was out of her seat with her hand in the air before anyone else could respond. 

“I’ve finished, Sir, and I’d be happy to assist you.”

She watched his eyes flash at her choice of words. Had he not said the exact same thing to her, the night he had gifted her with an orgasm atop his desk? Hermione was now relatively certain that the compulsion was troubling him, and that all this was an elaborate ruse to procure her from the classroom. 

Packing her books into her bag and presenting Slughorn with a vial of her completed potion, she approached Snape and attempted to take the top tray carefully from his pile. There was a slight tremble to his hands. 

“Well, yes, Miss Granger would seem to be the obvious candidate,” Slughorn muttered, although he was smiling. “Such an excellent student, you couldn’t wish for better assistance, Headmaster.”

“Why the Mudblood?” hissed the Death Eater. “She’s nothing special.”

“Indeed, she is not,” replied Snape, “but she has finished her brewing and is willing to assist. That is enough for me.”

He allowed Hermione to take the top tray and indicated she should follow him out of the classroom, where he led her down the dungeon corridor in the opposite direction to the stairwell that led out of the dungeons. They were going further in, towards the room that used to be his office when he was head of Slytherin and the Potions master. 

Stopping at the last door before a deep flight of stone stairs that led downwards, he turned into it, and it opened at his touch. Clearly, he had it warded to recognise his own magical signature. It was a laboratory, and far more sophisticated than the one used as the Potions classroom. This was a lab for a true Potions master, a wizard who knew his craft, and needed the best equipment and work space. Snape put the trays down on the nearest bench and indicated that she should do the same, before locking and warding the door behind them.

He turned to face her and leaned back against the workbench, and Hermione could see his face had a light sheen of sweat, and his breathing was rapid. The neutral demeanour that he had presented in the classroom was now open, and looking both shamed and anxious. 

“Do you know why I have called you in here, Miss Granger?”

“I can guess. Are you suffering with the compulsion?”

“Very much so. I apologise.”

“Professor, you have no reason to be sorry. We have agreed that we will assist each other where necessary to relieve the symptoms of the curse.”

“Thank you, but it does not lessen my guilt at seeking out a student to provide me with sexual relief.”

As he said the words, it seemed that he couldn’t help a groan slipping from his lips, and casting her eyes down, she could see a noticeable swelling in his groin. 

“Let me help you, Sir.”

“What of your own compulsion, Granger?”

“It is not troubling me at present. Yours seems to be greater, which makes sense, since you had a second layer of the curse placed upon you.”

“In that case, relief with your hand should alleviate my symptoms.”

It seemed as if he was trying hard to keep the conversation as instructive and as clinical as possible, to avoid embarrassment. She walked over to him, and stood by his side. 

“You’ll need to show me,” she whispered, and heard another groan in response.

Professor Snape did not even unfasten his belt, but merely pulled down the zip of his trousers and extracted his penis somehow from inside his undershorts, so that it was poking fully through the zip, looking hard and erect, but not as purple and desperate as it had the other night.

“Give me your hand, girl.”

She gave him her left, and he placed it palm-upwards on his right hand, drawing his left arm around her shoulders and pulling her close against him, tucking her under his armpit so that her chest was against his side. Snape drew her hand to the underside of his penis and wrapped it around the shaft, which jerked at her touch, and he drew in a sharp breath. 

“Rub me like you did the other night,” he instructed, beginning a slow up-and-down movement that he wanted her to follow. 

Hermione remembered how she had touched him, what movements he had enjoyed, and began to slide her hand slowly along his cock, looking down and watching her own hand pleasure him. His other hand clutched around her back, keeping her held tightly against him. 

“Fuck”, he muttered, almost inaudibly. 

“That’s helping?” she asked. 

He let out a snort of amusement.

“Yes, Granger. It is helping. It is so fucking good that it could barely be termed as helping, more as a complete fucking pleasure.”

She basked in his praise, wishing it was for schoolwork rather than her masturbation skills, but felt rather stupidly happy, anyway. Speeding up the motion of her hand a little, she was gratified to feel him press his mouth against the top of her head – did that count as a kiss, if he was just holding his mouth there? She could feel him whispering against her hair, mostly unintelligible, but she caught the odd oath and gasp. 

“Faster,” he hissed, rolling his hips against her hand. 

Taking a better grip, she began to shuffle her hand faster, making sure that she was covering as much of his penis as she could, although it was rather large compared to her small hand. His arm tightened around her, and she could feel his teeth bared against her scalp and his rapid, heavy breathing blowing in her hair through his long nose. 

“Don’t stop,” he begged, and he sounded desperate. “Fuck, don’t stop, keep going, please …”

Holding himself rigid as she wanked him hard and fast, his hips gave one final thrust as he came a with long shout of relief. She felt him remove his lips from the top of her head and look down as the same sight that she was, at his cock pulsing as thick jets of semen erupted from the end and spilled on her fingers and down to the laboratory floor. 

“I am so sorry,” he said, breathlessly, as his penis began to quickly shrink even as she still held it in her palm. 

He took her hand in his own and eased it from his cock, moving it away from him, although he still had her clamped under his arm and against his body. 

“Please stop apologising, Sir. I realise this is very uncomfortable, for both of us, but we agreed we would do what needed to be done.”

Snape cleaned up with a quick wandless spell, and didn’t forget to include her hand in his cast, before releasing her and tucking his penis away in his trousers, pulling up the zip and generally tidying himself up. 

“Has this affected your own compulsion in any way?” he asked. 

“I don’t think so, although when I was … doing that, I did feel, um, a little aroused. I think I enjoyed it.”

“Hardly,” he sneered, witheringly. “That will be the compulsion, not your own desire. No doubt you will find it worsens as the day goes on due to the contact. However, we are meeting Lupin and Shacklebolt at midnight so I suggest that I summon you to my office in a less-than-covert fashion later, so that it gives you reason to stay with me overnight again. Then, if you do find you have discomfort from your curse symptoms, we can … I mean, I can assist you where needed.”

“Thank you, Sir. That sounds like a good plan. Would you like me to leave now?”

“I think that would be best. Extended time in your private company is not good for my compulsion.”

“I don’t mind. Really.”

“I am sure you don’t, and I thank you, but I remind you again that your enthusiasm is entirely curse-related. I suggest you return to your lesson and await my summons, which will be at some time after dinner.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you, Professor Snape.”

“Thank you, Miss Granger.”

As she closed the laboratory door behind her and headed back to Slughorn’s droning, Hermione wondered just how much of the compulsion was encouraging her to turn straight around and kiss the headmaster senseless, the way they had done in his bed the other night, in the dark, and how much was her own desire. 

-xxx-

Not long before dinner, Severus was summoned to the infirmary by Macnair, who met him outside with a smug look on his face. 

“I told the little bastard not to fuck with me,” he spat, as Severus approached.

“Mr Malfoy?”

“Who else? He’s lucky the Dark Lord let him live after he fiddled with Yaxley’s Mudblood. He only got shown mercy since he insisted he’d only held her hand, nothing further, and let his mind be searched. Corban was less than pleased, I’ll tell you that. He’s coming to Hogwarts tonight to remind the bitch exactly who she belongs to.”

“How pleasant,” Severus drawled. “And of Malfoy’s current condition? Let us not forget his father is one of us.”

“Like Lucius gives a shit. He’s so out of it on opiates I doubt he knows which end is up. But Malfoy Junior? He’ll survive. That medi-witch seems to know what she’s doing.”

Severus attempted to walk past Macnair and enter the infirmary, but Walden stopped him with a meaty hand on his arm.

“I reckon the Dark Lord will want to see him again, once he’s recovered. When he was searching Malfoy’s mind, the dumb prick was Occluding him, and not discreetly, either. Voldemort was trying to access all his contact and conversation with the Mudblood, and he Occluded everything. That’s got to be a trick he’s learned from Aunt Bella, surely? She was always a total bitch with her ability to Occlude.”

“I neither know, nor care,” Severus replied, “but as headmaster I do have a duty to the students in this school, if you’ll excuse me.”

He pushed past Macnair successfully this time, and entered the infirmary, where Draco was being tended to in an end bed, far away from other patients. Madam Pomfrey eyed Snape suspiciously as he approached. 

“The damage is?” he asked, curtly. 

“Fractured nose and forehead from being on the receiving end of some vicious Legilimency. Two broken ribs, and a large contusion to the stomach consistent with being repeatedly punched. Extensive bruising to the chest area and upper arms,” she replied, just as curtly. 

“He can be fully healed?”

“Given time, his body can. His mind, I’m not so sure.”

Pomfrey’s kindly face was etched with concern, and Severus was sure there was far more she wanted to say, but was stopping herself. 

“Did Macnair bring him here?”

“Macnair? I’ve not seen him. It was Hagrid who carried this young one all the way from the front gates, where he’d been dumped unconscious at the Apparition point and left for dead.”

Her tone of voice betrayed her stark disapproval only too clearly. 

“Very well. I shall leave him in your capable hands.”

Severus whirled around and stalked out of the infirmary, very glad that Draco had either been asleep or had his eyes closed, ignoring him. He had enough problems at the moment without Draco Malfoy making unnecessary ones.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Homework time is over, Mudblood. You have more important things to do, now.”

Hermione was seated in her favourite corner of the library that evening, reference books spread out on the table before her, an impeccable Transfiguration essay flowing easily from the end of her fast-moving quill in her neat, looped handwriting. She had months of catching-up to do in order to be ready to take her NEWTs at the end of term, and was determined to give the examinations her best possible effort, despite being at such a horrendous disadvantage. 

No one passing the table would have known that stuffed inside her bookbag was a toothbrush, a pair of pyjamas, some clean underwear and a change of clothes to wear to Grimmauld Place – all hidden and ready for a night with the headmaster. The notion sounded preposterous, even to her own ears, but she was far happier being prepared, rather than last time, which had seen her wandering around the castle corridors in nothing but a skimpy vest and shorts. Not that she’d had much preparation time, being yanked semi-conscious from her bed by a salivating Alecto Carrow. 

Hermione’s peaceful session of homework was interrupted just after eight o’clock, when she heard the library door creak open and heavy footsteps approach her from behind.

“Well, if it isn’t the Headmaster’s little pet, exactly where he said she would be?”

She didn’t need to turn around to know that Professor Snape had sent Macnair to fetch her. Hideous, but it would give credence to their excuse for being together that evening. None of these foul Death Eaters must ever glean even the slightest hint of their real whereabouts, for if they were to find out, it would mean certain death for both her and Snape. 

“Homework time is over, Mudblood. You have more important things to do, now.”

She sighed heavily, and began to pack her books away, careful not to reveal the extra items concealed in her bookbag. Once she had cleared the table meticulously, not wanting to rush, she finally turned to the revolting excuse for a wizard who was standing behind her, waiting impatiently. 

“Well? What would you have me do?”

“Watch your tongue there, it’s getting a little sharp for my liking. Sadly, I can’t make you do anything,” he leered, leaning in close so that Madam Pince could not hear him. “If it were down to me, you’d be on your knees in this library, with my cock so far down your throat you’d be struggling to breathe, Mudblood. But since I wasn’t gifted with that pleasure, I’m here to collect you for Snape. He finds himself in need of you, this evening.”

Hermione forced herself to look resigned and unhappy. 

“Such a shame. Those marks from last time are still a little visible. I suppose he’ll be adding to those, tonight? Now, get moving, you Gryffindor bitch.”

Macnair made her walk directly in front of him as they left the library, and Madam Pince’s face was a picture of concern, yet she could do nothing. The Death Eaters were in control of this school, and all the staff and students knew it. People stared at her unpleasantly as she walked through the hallways being tailed by Macnair, openly wondering where they were going. 

If only they knew. 

It seemed to take an interminable amount of time to reach Gargoyle Corridor, where they would find the entrance to the Headmasters’ study at the top of the spiral staircase. Whilst the stairs were twisting around and carrying them both upwards, her on a higher stair than he, she felt Macnair’s hand slip up her skirt, between her legs, trying to force his fingers into the seat of her knickers. 

He did not get that far. 

Hermione’s instinctive reaction was to clamp her thighs together, spin around, and deck Macnair in the face with a mighty punch, sending him crashing back down to the bottom of the staircase, roaring in pain. She rolled her eyes at the amount of fuss he was making. They were only ten steps up, if that, and the stairwell was too narrow for him to have done any real damage. It was more ungraceful, than anything else. 

She continued travelling upwards on the stairs, reaching the door of Snape’s office just as he opened it and looked around for the source of the shouting and cursing. 

“What has happened?” he hissed, urgently, seeing her arrive at his office unexpectedly alone when he’d specifically sent Macnair to fetch her. 

“He touched me, so I knocked him down the stairs,” she whispered. 

He smirked, and took hold of her upper arm.

“Nice job. However, I shall have to be seen to punish you. Comply with everything, do you understand?”

She nodded, feeling a shiver of the compulsion at his proximity and at the touch of his hand. Macnair was now ascending their staircase again, his face an absolute picture of blind fury. 

“You could have killed me, you little fucking bitch of a Mudblood!” he screamed, drawing his wand and pointing it towards Hermione’s chest. 

Professor Snape stepped neatly between them.

“Do not interfere with my toy, Macnair. If she has wronged you, then let me hear it, and I shall meter out the appropriate punishment,” he told his colleague, smoothly. 

“The dirty slag punched me in the face and pushed me down the stairs!”

“Magically? Granger, give me your wand. That is unacceptable.”

“Not magically, Snape. Like some kind of fist-fighter!”

“That is most interesting Macnair. A small witch able to better you with only her own fists? The Dark Lord will be most pleased to have her talents under his control, if indeed, she has this much power.”

Macnair’s face turned even redder in humiliation and anger. He still brandished his wand like an offensive weapon. 

“Punish her, Snape, or I will.”

“You have been wronged, Walden. And for that I will compensate you. Both of you, into my office. Now.”

They walked into the familiar circular study, and Professor Snape took her bookbag from her shoulder and tossed it carelessly on to one of the armchairs before the fire. He looked her straight in the eyes, his expression unreadable, but she felt the compulsion for the second time in as many minutes. It had been building steadily since they had been together in his private lab that afternoon, her hand wrapped around his cock, and to be so near him was exquisitely uncomfortable. 

“Go and stand in front of my desk, Miss Granger. Face it, and bend over.”

“What?”

“Do as I tell you. Immediately.”

The tone of his voice brooked no argument. She stepped over to his large desk, and assumed the position he had instructed her to take, hearing both he and Macnair laugh in a lustful, dangerous manner. 

“I think this should suffice as your compensation, Macnair,” she heard Snape say, although she could not see him. 

“Little brat deserves a good hiding. Six of the best?”

“Indeed.”

Hermione did not hear Snape cross the room towards her, so silent were his footsteps, but suddenly he was upon her, his hand pressed on her lower back. Without warning, he flipped her school skirt fully up and over her bottom, tucking the hem into the waistband. She gasped, loudly.

“Silence, Granger. Macnair, you are appreciative of this view?”

“Very much so,” she heard him reply, his voice thick with sleaze. 

Before she could protest, Snape had given her three sharp slaps on the bottom, over her knickers, causing her to cry out, not really in pain, for they had not hurt, but in shock. 

“I trust, Walden, that this compensates for your ordeal at the hands of this Mudblood?” Snape asked him, his fingers trailing over her bum cheeks, which was further provoking her compulsion, and she was certain she could feel herself beginning to dampen. 

Ye gods, was she enjoying this? Did she want him to spank her? Hermione was partly thrilled, partly horrified at her arousal. 

“Give me the last three bare-arsed, and I’ll say yes, Severus,” he drawled. 

“As you wish.”

“No!” she cried out, knowing that her knickers were likely to be a little wet and not wanting this foul cretin to see any more of her body than he already had. 

“You do not presume to select the manner of your punishment, Granger,” Snape replied, evenly, and she felt his long fingers hook into the sides of her knickers and slide them a little way down her thighs, where he left them. 

She pressed her legs together, tightly, and clenched her bum as he delivered the final three swats. 

“More,” Macnair demanded. “She needs to open her legs, that dirty cunt needs a spanking as much as her arse does.”

“I’m sure you are correct, Walden, however you requested six, and that is what you have observed. The Mudblood’s further punishment will be conducted in private, for my eyes only. Now, leave.”

“You’ve got to be joking? Open her up and show me her pussy, you selfish bastard.”

“I have no need of making jokes. Everything between this witch’s legs belongs to me. You are now intruding on my private time, and as you are no doubt aware, I am under a compulsion curse that requires this girl’s undivided attention. Return to your chambers and masturbate, if you are so inclined.”

There was a huff of annoyed breath from Macnair, and the sound of his heavy footfall stomping across the office. She heard the door open and close, and then the fizz of a security ward being added. 

“Miss Granger.”

He was back at her side again. How did he manage that so silently?

“You may of course get up. I apologise sincerely for my actions.”

Hermione did not move. She did not want to. There was only one thing she wanted right now, and it was for the headmaster to continue his ‘punishment’. She remained where she was. 

She felt him quickly lean over her. 

“Granger. If you do not get up, and continue to lay there with your glorious arse exposed naked on my desk and presented for spanking, I shall not be responsible for my actions. Is that clear?” he growled, in a heady, urgent voice. 

“Go ahead,” she coughed out. “I want you to.”

She heard him swear and curse under his breath. 

“Are you compelled?”

“So badly.”

-xxx-

He swore again, sighed deeply, and stood up, returning his hand to the small of her back, and rubbing his other hand over her bare bum. Granger was asking him to spank her? He couldn’t quite believe it, but as he felt her arse muscles relax and allowed his fingers to drift and dabble between her cunt lips there was definite moisture collecting there. His cock hardened in an instant. Fucking hell. 

Severus took hold of her knickers and pulled them down from around her thighs to her knees, not able to stop himself from feeling the seat like a lecherous pervert, and finding the fluid he suspected. Wet underwear? From his punishment? He gave her arse an experimental slap, and she gasped. Two more, each one was eliciting that same noise. 

Bloody Merlin, he was so erect that he feared he might burst the fastening on his trousers. He pulled her knickers all the way down to her ankles, and off the end of her feet, leaving her shoes and socks on. 

“Open your legs, Granger,” he instructed, his voice cracking with arousal as she immediately complied, exposing some of her juicy pussy to his view. 

He delivered three loud slaps, making sure to catch her soft lips under his palm, and he could feel her wet stickiness against it. 

“More?” he asked, not wanting to hurt this girl in any way, but desperate to redden her arse. 

She was sublime. 

“Yes please,” she breathed, her back arching and pushing her bottom further in the air. 

He littered a round dozen all over her behind, never spanking the same area twice, and not particularly hard. Just enough to make her flinch, and all in quick enough succession to have her squealing by the fifth smack. He powered through it, and after the twelfth he could hold himself no longer, diving between her labia and pushing two fingers deep into her cunt, pressing and rolling her clit with his thumb as he thrust in and out of her. 

“Oh, my god!” she screamed. “Fucking hell, oh fuck …”

Severus rather liked hearing this little Gryffindor swearing like a sailor. She was soaking wet, humping the desk in frustration, and pushing down hard on his invading fingers. He sped up his movements, yanking open his trousers with his free hand, for he would have her after this, of that there was no doubt. He was so fucking hard he felt like he would explode at the slightest touch. 

His penis liberated from its cramped prison, he returned his hand to her arse cheek, pulling it to one side to spread her as open as he could, keeping a relentless rhythm with his pistoning fingers, stirring up the copious amounts of fluid that were squelching inside her with his frantic finger-fucking. 

Then without warning, he stopped. He withdrew his fingers and knelt down behind her. She screamed at the loss of his hand. 

“Sir? Please don’t stop!”

Oh, I’m not stopping. 

Holding her labia open with both hands, he leaned his face towards her pussy and drew just her clitoris alone between his lips, suckling it with delicate tugging movements that he knew would drive this delicious young witch over the edge.   
Go on, he thought. Come all over my face, you little peach. 

“Oh, oh, ohhhh ….”

That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me. 

“Oh, fucking hell! Ungghhh! Oh, my god ….”

Her open hole began to contract wildly, covering him with her juice as she shook her orgasm free with her hips. If he hadn’t been held in check by the compulsion curse restricting his orgasms, he would probably have climaxed himself, all over his own feet, in the face of her rampant enthusiasm. 

Severus got to his feet, lined up his erection with her quivering entrance and shoved himself home, pushing all the way in until he felt his cock bottom out against her cervix. He took a firm hold of her hips and began to thrust, for this was not going to last long, since he was so fucking aroused. 

“Are you … alright?” he managed to puff out, the power of concise speech deserting him. 

“Yes, Sir. Shit … yes. I’m fine. Just … don’t stop.”

“I have no intention of stopping, Granger.”

He fucked her hard, this student that he had just spanked almost to orgasm over his desk, buried balls-deep in the sweetest cunt he’d ever known. The guilt would kick in later, of course it would, but for now, in this transcendent moment, all that mattered was chasing his orgasm, to spill inside her. 

“Take it, take it …” he growled under his breath, as his hips sped to a blur and there was no noise apart from the slap of their genitals being thrust together. “Fuck! Coming … Gods!”

He ejaculated, his hips jerking his orgasm from the end of his cock as they had done in the lab earlier that day. Tightening his fingers around her rump to ensure they did not lose contact, he continued to thrust until he was sure that every last drop had been deposited. 

Stroking her arse, he gently removed his prick from inside her, casting a cleansing charm to deal with the mess that was smeared over them both, including around his face and mouth. Once done, he pulled her to stand straight, and turned her around to face him, searching her eyes with his own. 

-xxx-

Professor Snape held her head with both hands, his eyes flashing volcanic black with desire that she could clearly read, despite her lack of experience. The compulsion was still there, and she suspected her own was, too. 

Desire begets desire. The more you have, the more you want. 

He leaned in towards her, his mouth meeting hers for the first time since they’d been in the darkness of his bed. She could not help but sigh in pleasure as her lips remembered what her mind had forgotten, the soft agility of his movements as he began to move his mouth, teasing her kisses from her, angling her head so that he could plunder her deeper. This was Snogging – the professional version, and he soon had her gasping, eagerly offering her tongue for him to take, and tangle it with his own, forgetting just who it was that she was kissing. 

The rapier sharp tongue that was so often used to wound and belittle, was sweeping to every corner of her mouth as if trying to commit it to memory. He rolled his tongue around hers in a frantic spiral, possessing her entirely.

At length, he pulled back from her, once again searching her face. 

“Sir? Why are you …?”

“Sssh,” he interrupted, putting a finger to her lips. “Do not ask me questions that I am not ready to answer.”

He lifted her up, guiding her legs to wrap around his slim waist and her arms to encircle his neck before returning his mouth to its endeavours in kissing her. He began to walk with her in his arms, still snogging, across the office and through the concealed door in the panelled wall that led to his bedchamber. Kicking it open, he stepped alongside his huge, four-poster bed, and set her down on the floor. 

The room was dark, and with a wave of his hand he lit the fire in the small grate, providing the chamber with both heat and light. Another gesture and the quilt was pulled back, and with a third, he divested them both of every stitch of clothing. Hermione felt her eyes widen not in alarm, but in pleasured surprise. 

“We have several hours before we need to be at Grimmauld Place, and I would suggest that sleep is wise. We are both also brimming with the compulsion, so let us deal with both issues at the same time?”

She nodded, and he folded himself into the bed, pulling her in alongside him. 

“Come here, Granger.”

They rolled towards each other, seemingly both keen to resume their snogging session, and with a hand that slipped to her bare breast, he returned his lips to hers, those full lips that surprised her with their warmth, skill and passion. It was only when their mouths were exhausted that they stopped kissing and fell into slumber, each wrapped tightly around the other. 

-xxx-

Severus awoke slightly before the Tempus charm he had set to wake them shortly before they needed to leave for Grimmauld Place. It wasn’t so much a natural awakening, more a pleasured shock as he slid back into consciousness realising that Granger’s hand was gently wanking his cock. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, and he could hear his voice was rusty with the few hours of sleep they’d had. 

“I can’t help it,” she answered. “I just … need to.”

“How much do you need?”

“More than this, I think,” she answered, a note of helplessness in her in tone. 

He was fucking exhausted. The whole episode over the desk earlier had knackered him out in a way he hadn’t been in years, and they didn’t have much time before they needed to leave. However, they could not attend the meeting with a grumbling compulsion, they would be on the back foot before they even got there. 

“Come here, over me.”

“What?”

“Don’t be ignorant, Granger. Get on top.”

With only a little hesitation, she rose to her knees, and threw one leg over his body. He manoeuvred her into place so that she was sitting astride his hips, his erection pressed tightly to her hot pussy. The golden light of the fire silhouetted her body perfectly – this stunning young witch, naked and sitting atop him, curly hair tumbling down her shoulders and a look of high arousal in her beautiful eyes … well, he was hard pushed to remember that none of this was real. In the real world, were she not compelled, it certainly wouldn’t be on his cock that Hermione Granger would be sitting. 

“Kneel up.”

She did so, and he slipped his hand between her legs and guided his cock inside her, and she pushed herself down on it instinctively. Fuck, he was in deep, it was like she had swallowed him whole. Granger must feel it too, for she closed her eyes and drew in a long breath. 

“Are you in pain?”

“No. It’s just so … deep. You feel so big inside me.”

He could not help the juvenile smirk that crept to his face, and she returned it, realising what she had said. 

“Thank you for the compliment,” he replied, “and yes, different positions will vary the angle and depth of penetration. It is too much for you?”

“I’m fine. Hold on, let me …”

A look of intense concentration replaced the smile on her face as she began to experiment with movement – undulating her hips, bobbing up and down, rubbing against him. He didn’t care what she did; it all felt fucking fantastic. He was content to lie back and watch her fuck him, fuck herself nearer to her own peak. If he’d thought over the desk had been sublime, this was outstanding in a completely different way. 

They were no doubt going to be late, but it was so difficult to force himself to care whilst in this position. 

At length, her movements found their rhythm, and he felt himself being driven higher. He couldn’t help but pull her forwards to lay her breasts against his bare chest, and he again captured her lips with his own, pushing his tongue straight into her mouth and feeling her respond passionately and energetically. 

Severus slid his hands down her body and gripped a tight hold of her hips, guiding her in the rocking motion that would push him over the edge of his climax. He was moaning into her mouth as she picked up the movement, thrusting her wet cunt repeatedly up and down his cock. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, breaking the kiss and propping herself up on her hands. “Oh! I think I’m going to …”

She changed the angle and fucked him like a witch possessed. He could do nothing but watch the amazing visual from the comfort of his pillow as she climaxed around his penis, the surprise in her eyes clear to see. 

Holy shitballs, he was lost. 

A stunning young woman fucking herself to orgasm on the end of his cock? Yes, please. 

Her final motions wrung out the last vestiges of his control, and he came mere seconds after she had, shooting inside her as she was still gasping in orgasm. It was as close to a simultaneous completion as he’d ever had. 

-xxx-

Fifteen minutes after midnight, they were standing on the hearth of the main fire in his office. Slightly awkward after their second bout of sex that evening, Hermione had summoned her bag and leapt out of bed to dress in the spare clothes that she’d brought with her – she didn’t fancy a second trip to Grimmauld in nothing but a Transfigured bathrobe, no shoes and no underwear. She had jeans, jumper, boots and all necessary underwear items in her bookbag, all ready to put on for this meeting. 

Snape redressed himself in his usual white shirt and black trousers, although she couldn’t help but notice with a shiver that he’d foregone his underpants. After he had pulled on his black boots, she was surprised to see that he did not add his usual tailored frock coat, but instead opened a heavy drawer in a tall chest to select a black wool jumper, which he put on over the shirt. It was ever-so-slightly more casual and suitable for a midnight meeting. 

He had called Lupin through the Floo, and Remus had opened the connection so that they could walk through. Immediately they entered, Hermione saw far more people than she had been expecting. 

Remus was there of course, as was Kingsley, and a woman she presumed must be his wife, Audrina. However, there was also Fleur. Fleur! She leapt across the room and embraced the Frenchwoman, who returned her hug with affection and a few tears.   
There was also another witch in the room. A witch who was rising to her feet a little stiffly, and heading towards where Professor Snape stood on the hearth, a wary expression on his unsmiling face. 

“Severus,” Professor McGongall started. “I have greatly wronged you. I believed that you had betrayed Albus and the Order, and returned to the Death Eaters. Albus insisted I should trust you, whatever happened, but I did not. Remus and I have been correspondents the last fortnight, he has explained the circumstances of Albus’ death and the arrangement that had been made between you. That was exceptionally brave, Severus, but it left you without an ally or friend in the world. Remus has also advised me of your continuing self-sacrifice to protect Miss Granger from abuse, and I only hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, for we have only each other left, those of us here in this room.”

It seemed like every occupant of the Grimmauld Place kitchen was holding their breath. 

“Thank you, Minerva. It is indeed a comfort to know that you have changed your opinion of me, but let me assure you that I do not blame you. Albus’ plan for my persecution was absolute. Let us not dwell on the past, but instead move forward with the resources that we have. I will share all the information that I have gleaned from my meetings with the Dark Lord so that we may use this knowledge to its most advantageous effect.”

Everyone nodded, and found themselves a place around the large wooden table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, a house that was now her home and property, being used once again as Headquarters. Hermione settled down next to Fleur at one end of the table, who seemed reluctant to let go of her hand, and the Shacklebolts were seated together opposite Remus, who was joined either side by Snape and McGonagall. 

“Voldemort now has followers in more places than just the Ministry, although that is his biggest station. He has a Death Eater heading up each of the key departments, and although Umbridge is not a Death Eater, she has some very dubious ideals and anti-Muggle leanings that suggest she is a dangerous individual to be in the role of Minister.”

McGongall snorted, her hatred of Dolores Umbridge being well-documented. 

“Vicious little troll,” she grumbled, “I for one wish the centaurs had finished her off. Nothing but trouble.”

“Our one hope is that since she is not Imperiused, as Thicknesse was,” Snape continued, “that there may come a time where her own agenda may skew from the Dark Lord’s.”

“What are you saying, that they could oppose each other?” Lupin asked, visibly perking up at the thought. 

“I believe it could be a possibility. Both are power-hungry, and equally deranged. However, in sheer magical skill, Umbridge would not pass muster against the Dark Lord. But I cannot deny such a struggle would prove interesting,” Snape replied.

“Remus has explained to us about the Horcruxes, Severus, whilst waiting for yourself and Hermione to arrive,” interjected Kingsley, during the pause in the conversation. “We all understand that the snake needs to be killed first, before an attempt on Voldemort’s life can be made.”

“Miss Granger, along with Potter and Weasley, have made a valiant effort to identify and destroy the other Horcruxes.”

“Hermione, please, Severus,” chided Lupin. “We are not in school, and Hermione is on an equal level with the rest of us. We should all be on a first-name basis, insofar as our work here goes.”

Snape lifted his eyes to meet hers, and she could almost see their sexual encounters being played out before her, as if they were at the front of his mind. His eyes really were incredible. It was like their blackness burned into the very depths of her soul. 

“Hermione it is, then,” he conceded, not dropping his gaze. 

“Thank you, Severus,” she replied, finding it intensely personal to be using his given name, and having a mad thought about whether it would be appropriate to use it with his head between her legs. 

The slight blush that had spread to her face had not gone unnoticed, as he raised an eyebrow at her, as if he had a question. He had noticed. He noticed everything. 

“’Ow do you suggest we kill ze snake?” 

Fleur was sitting bolt upright now, her hands clasped on the table and seemingly keen to take action. 

“I initially believed that task would fall to me, during a Death Eater meeting, but now I am not so sure. Remus has explained that Nagini is being magically caged?”

They all nodded. 

“He will need to let her out soon, lest her health begins to fail from lack of exercise and fresh air. She is his final Horcrux and he cannot risk her dying from natural causes. It will be a case of establishing a pattern of his movements, so having Order members stationed in places where he is likely to visit, will help with this.”

“I understand you wish me to return to the Ministry?” Kingsley asked, his face grave. 

“I do not know who else can be stationed there,” Lupin answered, “we can only hope that you were not noticed at the battle of Hogwarts.”

“Keeping a very low profile at the Ministry whilst protecting the Muggle prime minister has helped me,” he replied. “I was not often in the office once the Death Eater were there in force, and I hope I am fairly forgettable. I shall attempt to return to my role in the Auror office, stating that I was injured and unable to work. Audrina works at St Mungo’s and is going to procure me some Healing notes to confirm this.”

“I shall return to Gringotts,” Fleur stated simply, surprising everyone. 

“Fleur, you cannot …” began Lupin, but she quickly silenced. 

“Non! I cannot sit at ‘ome and do nothing. My job at ze bank, it eet easy. The goblins liked Bill, and they like me too. I shall colour my ‘air so that I am not recognisable from ze battle. A lot of secret information can be ‘eard at Gringotts. Ze goblins, zey do not care for wizards. They care only for zemselves.”

“You will be a valuable source of information,” Snape agreed, nodding his head towards Fleur. 

“So, I am to be the useless one, the one who hides indoors, whilst others do the work,” Remus said, sadly.

“Do not be self-sacrificing, Lupin, it does not suit you. I have no intention of watching you become the next Sirius Black, who could have saved himself had he not been so desperate for adventure. You will co-ordinate the Order from here, and keep yourself safe, for if I am not mistaken, there is a small boy who will need his father, once all this is over.”

Everyone remained silent, for the truth had been spoken, loud and clear. 

And with that tacit agreement, the third incarnation of the Order of the Phoenix was established, with Severus Snape very firmly at the helm.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Say it again,” he growled.
> 
> “Severus.”
> 
> “I do want it. I want you,” he replied, roughly.

“There is a small boy who will need his father, once all this is over.”

Remus bowed his head in shame at Snape’s words, for Severus was entirely correct, of course. He must not allow himself to be swept away in the adventure of the moment, to be seduced into leaving the sanctuary of Grimmauld Place by the glamour of running headlong into battle against the Dark Lord. For he had something that his friend Sirius had not – hindsight. 

After his own experiences in the battles of the Department of Mysteries, the Astronomy Tower the night Dumbledore died, racing through the skies against Death Eaters with seven Potters and throughout Hogwarts castle in the dreadful ‘end’ to the war just a few weeks ago, Remus had finally learned. 

He had begged Tonks to return home, the night she had been killed, to flee from Hogwarts, to stay in the safety of her mother’s house with their son. But she had refused – her desire to be with him and the alluring intensity of being needed at the battle had cost Teddy his mother, Remus his wife, and Tonks her own life. 

If she had only stayed at home as he had implored her to do. 

That was his choice now. He had a second chance to save his son from being an orphan, all he had to do was stay home. It was not boring, or dull, or cowardly, to ensure your child had a father, when they’d already lost their mother in tragic circumstances. If they were successful, if they managed in their small number to restore order to the world, he would return for his son, the blue-haired infant who resembled his beautiful mother in every way. He was determined to be a father that Edward Lupin could be proud of. 

But, right now, there was much to be done. Dangerous work that he had no intention of drawing Teddy into. He was safe in a wizarding household with his grandmother, for now. 

For sheer good sense and practicality, there was no way Remus could reveal himself in the wider wizarding world. He was a known werewolf, and would be sought either by the feral werewolves he had sought to align himself with at Dumbledore’s instruction, by an official for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, or by Death Eaters, who knew he was a high-profile member of the Order of the Phoenix, and a confirmed ally of Albus Dumbledore. 

Lupin had no job to return to where he could be of use, like Fleur or Kingsley or Audrina, and he could not be a spy, as Severus was doing. In truth, Snape’s role sounded hellish – he wouldn’t wish it upon his worst enemy, which was ironic, considering how many years he’d hated the Slytherin wizard for. Well, maybe hate was a strong word. He’d despised Severus in school, of course, gleefully encouraged by James and Sirius, and afterwards, for Snape’s association with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but in the recent years – not so much. 

The year Remus had taught at Hogwarts, Severus had spent many of his own free hours to brew him perfect Wolfsbane, which had allowed him almost a year free of the worst of his lycanthropic symptoms. It had been blissful, he thought ruefully, as the prospect of another cycle locked in the cellar of Grimmauld Place loomed dark on the horizon. 

Yes, he had been furious that Severus had outed him as werewolf because he’d been pissed off over the incident in his third year Defence lesson, the one that involved the Boggart and Neville Longbottom’s grandmother, but just because the man was a petty-minded git didn’t mean that his heart wasn’t essentially in the right place, however dark and skewed it appeared. 

He was the last of the Marauders. Sirius, James and Peter were all dead, each taken either directly or indirectly via the whims of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Not that Peter’s death turned out to be all that tragic in the end, for the treacherous rat had stolen twelve years of Sirius Black’s life and sent him to his death still branded as a mass-murderer. The truth had died with Pettigrew. Maybe, in the future, when all this was over, he could try and clear Black’s name - if anyone would ever listen to a werewolf. 

Remus would do as he was advised, and he would be a fool not to. He was warm and safe inside Grimmauld Place, undetectable under the new Fidelius charm and now in the legal ownership of Hermione Granger, thanks to Harry’s forethought in having made a Will at his young age. The lump that rose in his throat when he thought of the tragic life that James and Lily’s only son had lived, threatened to choke tears from him – but weeping would not help anyone, would not solve anything. 

Snape had ensured a reliable supply of good food, delivered hot, regularly and providing him with better nourishment than he’d had in years, excepting during his short marriage, where his wife’s Auror pay had supported them both, much to his own self-disgust at living on her charity. 

Tonks was always furious when he’d described it thus, telling him in her own inimitable manner to get his head out of his arse and accept the way life was, so that they could enjoy their marriage, and each other. He smiled. Never once had he understood why she loved him, but only knew that she did, wholeheartedly. It would be disrespectful to her memory to suggest he had not deserved it, to suggest that her choices had been flawed. 

Discussions went on. All communications would go via Grimmauld Place, and it would be a safe house for any allies that they were able to pick up along the way. Hermione was currently writing a second letter to Charlie Weasley in Romania, for she’d sent a previous one to which she had not received a reply, and they’d wondered if it had ever been received, hoping it had not been intercepted by the wrong hands. She was directing Charlie to Grimmauld Place, telling him once again the heart-breaking news about the fates that had befallen the rest of his family.

Fleur would be returning to Gringotts, Audrina to St Mungo’s, and Kingsley was going to attempt an audacious return to the lions’ den of the Ministry. Severus was still walking his precarious tightrope at Hogwarts, although now he had the support of Minerva as well as Hermione, which could only be a good thing. 

Hermione had explained that another female Muggle-born was being effectively held as a sexual hostage by the Death Eater Yaxley, and Minerva confirmed this, sharing the terrible story of the hours after the battle, where she had worked tirelessly alongside the house-elves to remove all the Muggle-borns from Hogwarts before they could be rounded up. The elves ability to Apparate outside magical wards and restrictions had been the key to her success. 

The older witch’s voice had cracked as she’d admitted that Hermione and the other girl had been helping her, since both had indicated they had no home to go to, outside of the school. Hermione had then revealed the Obliviation of her parents to ensure their safety, to the widespread shock of everyone else in the room. 

“Orla’s Muggle parents were killed by Death Eaters on a raid, for the sole crime of having produced a magical child. If I hadn’t done what I did, that probably would have been my parents, too. I did the right thing,” she had announced, certain of her actions, and Remus admired her for it. 

Minerva and Hermione had explained together about the murder of Dean Thomas, who had died in a valiant but ultimately useless attempt to protect the other girl, Orla, and how Snape had stepped up and insisted on being ‘gifted’ with Hermione, in order to ensure the same fate did not befall her. Severus looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Remus was not sure why, since he was doing a noble thing and had no reason to be embarrassed, for they all believed him. 

As the discussion went on, Lupin realised that the enforced time alone together with a student was probably excruciating for such a surly, solitary wizard as Snape, but Hermione was such a pleasant, intelligent girl it couldn’t be that bad, surely? But then he supposed that having to pretend he was repeatedly raping and abusing the girl must be difficult, as must be the overnight stays. 

Hermione had explained that Snape was conjuring visible bruises and injuries on her to give credence to their pretence, showing everyone her wrists and neck, which had nasty but clever markings on them that were fading just as real bruising would do. Minerva had visibly winced at this, but had made no comment, simply nodded her head, gravely. 

There was an awkwardness between them, though. Hermione seemed unable to meet his eye as she did with everyone else, and when she did, they both displayed signs of embarrassment. More than once, he had noticed Snape discreetly watching her through the lank curtain of his hair. 

Severus and Hermione had been rather late tonight, why? His mind began racing towards a conclusion he had not prepared for.

They had only to step through the Floo from his office at Hogwarts, a journey of a few seconds. It was not like either of them to be less than on-the-dot punctual, for they were both as irritatingly anal about timekeeping as the other. Lupin remembered many time that Hermione had berated Harry and Ron for their lackadaisical attitudes, and Severus had been a complete smug bastard in school – always where he was supposed to be at the right time – uniform correct and smirking like an arsehole as the Marauders had tumbled into classrooms ten minutes late with forgotten books and Gryffindor ties askew. 

Remus suddenly realised what his sensitive nose was picking up on, the reason for his unusual sense of disquiet that he had not paid heed to until now. As a werewolf, his olfactory nerves were far more highly-tuned than a normal human’s, and he could detect smells that a human would not be able to. 

It was the smell of sex. 

He had noticed it as soon as she stepped through the Floo and embraced him in greeting, although he hadn’t identified it for what it was. Had the smell had been present before Hermione and Severus had entered the kitchen? He couldn’t remember, but he had strong doubts that Minerva had been shagging in her Hogwarts office, and unless Kingsley and his wife had been going at it seconds before attending an order meeting …

Hermione was sitting next him, at right angles, on the corner of the large table. Now that he’d noticed it, the smell was all-pervading, intoxicating even, that sweet smell of arousal fulfilled. It was unlikely to have been noticed by others around her, but he knew.   
There was of course the possibility that Hermione was engaged in a sexual relationship with another student – he knew from experience that there were lots of places to secrete yourself and a willing partner for sex or immature fumblings in Gryffindor Tower alone, not to mention the rest of the castle. He felt a little calmer after remembering this. Of course, Severus would not be interfering with her, nor would she allow it. If he had been raping her, they certainly wouldn’t both be sat here now, making plans with the Order. 

But they couldn’t look at each other … and she’d arrived here with him …

Lupin’s suspicions were giving him a stomach ache, so he stood up and offered to make everyone a cup of tea. As he lit the stove and set the kettle to boil, he glanced over at the table. He would not say anything. He would observe, and he would listen. 

For now. 

-xxx-

Three hours later, Snape followed Granger back through the Floo into his office, the night was still pitch-black, and there were several more hours to go until the dawn broke over the school grounds. 

It had been a productive meeting, and having Minerva McGonagall as a second ally within the castle was an unexpected bonus. At the very least, it would mean he wasn’t universally loathed within the staff room. 

The two of them had discussed the need to be careful, however. It would arouse suspicion if the teaching staff all suddenly decided they liked the headmaster again and started treating him thus. Minerva would have to be as openly disdainful as she had been so far, and not tell the other professors anything, not yet.

Lupin had disconcerted him as they’d left. He had not said anything as such, but his sharp eyes had flicked between himself and Miss Granger in a rather suspicious way that suggested there was something he was trying to ascertain. 

Severus had attempted to be very discreet, but his admiration of Granger as she was speaking had of course nudged his compulsion with a sharp elbow, leaving him sitting there gawping like a besotted teenager as she addressed the group of adults with maturity and assertiveness. Granger was just like he had been at that age – an arrogant little know-it-all like him, that believed their opinion was the only one that mattered. If he’d been at school with her he’d have probably fancied her even more than he had Lily Evans. He obviously had a penchant for feisty, beautiful Gryffindors, and he internally berated himself for his own idiocy. He really was pathetic. 

She turned to him as soon as he’d stepped over the grate, standing too close to him, her eyes too luminous and shining with too much enthusiasm. 

“That went so well! I can’t believe Professor McGonagall was there, that was amazing!”

He arched a slow eyebrow, his groin beginning to throb helplessly at her proximity. Everything they’d done sexually tonight, it was no surprise the compulsion was noisy, and hungry for more. 

“Shouldn’t you be referring to her as Minerva?” he mocked, “since Lupin made such a show of you not needing to use titles?”

“I think that was only for Order meetings, perhaps not for school.”

He took a step closer to her, searching her brown eyes for signs that the compulsion was affecting her also. 

“You would not use given names in school?”

Snape saw her take a deep gulp. She knew he was compelled. She knew. She could recognise it for what it was, and met his eyes without shame. 

“Only if it was … wanted.”

Without missing a beat, he slipped his hand around the back of her neck as quickly as a striking snake, pushing his fingers up through her hair and cupping the back of her head, searing his black eyes into hers. 

“Do it.”

“Do you, want it … Severus?”

His fucking cock clearly wanted it, as the damn thing sprang to attention as if every pint of blood in his body had just been sent screeching down there in a dire emergency. It took all his sodding control not to actually pass out on the hearth rug. He gripped her head tighter.

“Say it again,” he growled.

“Severus.”

“I do want it. I want you,” he replied, roughly. 

“I’m all yours.”

Snape groaned, an earthy, rumbling sound that was almost painful. He grabbed hold of her upper arm and swung her around, pushing her up against the wall next to the fireplace, cushioning the back of her head with his hand that was still clamped there as he fixed his hips against hers to pin her in place, leaving her in no doubt of his erection that had sprung forth at her words. He pressed his mouth hard upon hers, forcing his tongue urgently between her lips and dragging her own out to duel, feeling her hands begin to rub his flanks, her unbidden, unexpected touch driving him higher. 

“If only you were all mine … Hermione,” he breathed, after the first passionate kiss, grasping a fistful of her hair. “If only this were real and you were here of your own volition, and I had you pressed up against my office wall because you wanted to be here, and not because you were compelled to do so.”

He kissed her hard again, enjoying the sounds of weak protest that she was gasping into his mouth. She was a delicious witch and no mistake; it was difficult to think of this as a curse or a punishment when all he could do was grind against her, spilling unadvised feelings as if he’d swallowed Veritaserum. 

“I’m here now,” she whispered, when he had stopped kissing to draw a much-needed breath, lest he actually expire. 

With a flick of his fingers, he divested her of the clothing on the lower half of her body, and pushed his own trousers and shorts down to his knees, enjoying her squeak as the cool air hit her nudity. 

“Put your legs around my waist,” he instructed, lifting her up so that she could do so, keeping her pressed against the wall as he guided his eager cock inside the wet hole she had just opened for him so beautifully. 

“Fucking hell,” he bit out, as he pushed himself home. 

“Oh! That’s good,” she gasped, moving her hands up to clutch upon his shoulders, just as a willing participant would do, just as a lover would do. 

Damn it all to hell. For the few moments that this encounter was going to last, he was going to pretend. He wasn’t going to guiltily pound into her like some kind of fucked-up rapist, he was going to take every bit of pleasure that this young witch was gifting him with. 

“You feel good, Hermione Granger. I do not believe that you have any idea how delicious you feel from the inside. Your hot little cunt is like pleasure incarnate around my cock.”

He saw the blush on her face, and wondered if it was from his words or his fucking. Hopefully both. She slid one of her hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck, and he felt an exquisite rush of pleasure as she tentatively touched his hair, pushing her fingers into the long black tangles for the first time. A shudder of further arousal ran through him at her sensual touch, and he growled, bucking into a series of quick, hard thrusts that would leave her in no doubt how she was arousing him.

She was a quick study, and began to massage the back of his scalp as he had done to her, inciting every one of his hair follicles to stand on end, as if craning for her touch, for her attention. Groaning loudly, he pushed his mouth against hers, capturing her lips yet again and feeling them full and swollen under his own as he continued to fuck her into the wall, keeping her steady with one hand on her hip, where he could feel her beginning to squirm delightfully with her own eagerness. 

Severus could feel her stomach heaving against his own. Why had he not stripped them both naked? As it was, their top halves were fully clothed, and his own trousers were around mid-calf now, slipping down with the rapid motions of his hips. He pressed upwards, pushing her up the wall with every thrust, enjoying every squeak and pant she made, for she was chasing her own climax as surely as he was chasing his. 

He slid his hand down her hip and under her bare arse, his long fingers seeking a further prize from his fake lover. He dabbled around, excited by feeling his own prick impaling her, and the novelty of his most private parts against hers. His fingertips felt for the skin of her vagina around his cock, it was moving, sucking him in with every thrust. Sliding further back, he stroked one finger around the puckered, rougher skin of her little rear end, smirking as she jumped at the new feeling. 

“Merlin!” she exclaimed, her buttocks clenching involuntarily. 

“Relax, Hermione,” he reassured, “this can be very pleasurable if you allow it.”

Keeping a soft stroke on her bum cheeks, he continued to kiss her mouth and thrust into her pussy until he felt her unclench them. 

“I want to touch all of you, little girl. No part of you, is distasteful to me.”

Severus slipped his finger back to her arsehole and began to tickle around it, enjoying her flinching in what he sincerely hoped was pleasure, hopping around on his cock, and the sensation was driving him ever-closer to coming. Using his fingertip to put a little pressure around her back entrance and speeding the movement of his hips at the same time, he knew he had her, as she pushed back against the wall, allowing him to access her neck and clamp his lips to the side of her throat, sucking hard as he pistoned into her, thrusting through the spams of her climax to reach his own, heaving and huffing loudly with each deep pump. 

“Fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuckkk …"

He came, and it was huge. He could hear his dangling balls slapping against her with the force of his thrusts, her back thudding against the wall behind. He held her fully in his arms as they recovered their breath, not able to stop himself covering her mouth with wet, sloppy kisses as she pulled strands of his mussed hair away from their conjoined lips. 

“Professor, I …”

“He’s not here,” Snape gasped, lips mauling hers most ungracefully.

“Severus.”

“Unghh … Again.”

She broke the kiss and pulled his head towards her, poking her little nose under his hair and next to his ear, as he so enjoyed doing to her. 

“Severus,” she whispered, and her breath felt like a fluttering faerie on the shell of his ear. “I’m still here.”

Pushing every thought of the inappropriateness of his actions to the back of his mind and locking them up, he lifted Hermione from the wall and placed her on her feet for just one second before scooping her up under her knees and squiring her across the room, towards the panelled wall of his bedchamber that they had exited all those hours earlier to leave for the meeting. 

As they reached the four-poster, he wandlessly removed the rest of their clothes and crawled into bed still holding her in his arms, placing her in the middle of the mattress and curling himself around her.

“Just for tonight, Hermione, allow me to pretend. Pretend that we are lovers, and that all this is normal and consensual, so that I may sleep alongside you believing that we are nothing but a witch and wizard who gain pleasure from each other’s minds and bodies, for I have never tasted anything so sweet as you.”

She was silent for a long time, and he was about to bolt for the bathroom in mortification at his own words, for she must surely be horrified to hear such words from her greasy professor now that her compulsion had been satisfied, when he felt her hands clutch around his embracing arm. 

“Just for tonight, Severus,” she whispered.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was her professor – the headmaster – and she was his student. Their actions now were inappropriate and untenable. 
> 
> But … but.

Hermione lay in the centre of the headmaster’s huge bed, naked, with an equally nude wizard, the headmaster himself, wrapped around her like a curling vine, and worrying about what he had asked of her. 

Snape had begged her to pretend that they were lovers, that their interactions were real and consensual. What was he trying to tell her, that he wished she was his lover? Did he fancy her, beyond the reaches of the compulsion? That seemed rather far-fetched, especially since the stern professor had made it very clear that he was not a celibate - having contraceptives within arm’s reach of his bed was testament to that. With his skill as a lover, she was sure that not many witches left his bed unsatisfied, despite his less-than-attractive looks and spiky disposition. 

It was unlikely that a powerful, intelligent, sexually confident wizard would be interested in, or satisfied by, an eighteen-year-old virgin, and his student to boot. 

She satisfied him in terms of the compulsion, certainly, but then he had been cursed to reach completion by her touch alone, forced to desire only her. It certainly wasn’t anything personal.

Oh blimey – Snape didn’t have a regular lady friend, did he? To Hermione’s shame, she realised she’d never actually asked him. It would explain why he was keen to spread the times they were compelled to be together as widely as possible, but would also preclude her theory that he fancied her. 

The other reason he might have asked her to pretend, she mused, could be that Snape didn’t like being forced to be intimate with her, and that it would be easier to ‘play a role’, to become characters that were in a relationship so that the demands of their compulsion curse seemed more natural, rather than a physical state they had no control over. That would make more sense, to pretend that it wasn’t such a terrible thing as it actually was – repeated, forced copulation and the sheer pain of unrequited physical need. 

When Snape was compelled, all manner of things would spill forth from his mouth; compliments and encouragement and plain old dirty talk that sent her head into a whirl, made her vagina wet, and forced her compulsion to thrum loudly for attention. 

However, Hermione was beginning to love it; hearing the filth flow in lustful torrents into her ear, against which he often spoke so closely, the puff of his hot breath adding an extra sensuality to his already wicked words. 

But now, right this moment?

They were both satisfied, their compulsion quieted by powerful orgasms, her thighs slick with their mingled fluids that neither of them had seen fit to spell away. There was no sane reason to be in the position they were now, naked together in his bed, as any normal couple would do after making love. He was her professor – the headmaster – and she was his student. Their actions now were inappropriate and untenable. 

But … but. 

Quite inexplicably, there was nowhere else on earth she wanted to be. His reassuringly large frame was wrapped around her, laying on his side as she gazed up at the green canopy above, strung from the heavy dark-wood posts of the bed. His eyes were closed, but from his unsteady breathing and stock-still movements, she doubted that he was asleep yet. He was holding himself rigid, and his forearms that she could feel under her hands were knotted with tension. 

Severus Snape was not an attractive wizard, by any stretch of the imagination. His face was pale and sallow, his nose overlong and his hair striking in its blackness, but greasy and uncared for. He was unpleasant and surly, a bully and a shockingly demanding educator. 

But … but. 

His body was slim, but held together with sinewy ropes of tight muscle. His bare skin was pale, but luminous in the moonlight that shone through his chamber windows. His dark features were striking, like a bird of prey, and his raw magical power shuddered palpably through his veins. 

Over the last few weeks, he had shown her a side of himself that she suspected few people were privileged enough to see. He was caring, thoughtful, considerate and gut-wrenchingly brave. He also appeared to have low self-esteem, and a sense of guilt that seemed to pervade everything he did. He had made himself vulnerable, laying here next to her, claiming her completely with his arms, and even his feet were entwined with hers. It seemed so uncharacteristically needy, and un-Snape-like. 

And then there was the way he touched her … 

He kissed like a man, so different from the surprising tentativeness of Viktor Krum, or the reverent searching of Ron Weasley. When he kissed her, it was dominant, forceful, and, she helplessly admitted, thoroughly erotic. Professor Snape kissed as if he was making love to her mouth, taking a little more of her breath away with each grind of his lips, with every lash of his tongue. No matter how long they kissed for, he would always break away and leave her wanting more. 

When he touched her body and pleasured her, he would make her feel like the only witch on earth; building her confidence, stoking her arousal and whispering such affirmations of her sexuality that she could honestly weep. 

When he came inside her, all hard, bony hips battering their way through his climax, his loss of control was a sight to behold. She had never before seen anything quite like the contorted visage of the headmaster, teeth bared as he poured himself inside her, that aroused her more, knowing that she was the sole cause of it. 

Apart from the compulsion curse, you stupid idiot, she berated herself. 

Her heart sank down to the pit of her stomach, for she had just received the answer to a question she didn’t know she was asking. 

For, however real and however erotic and sensual it might be, Snape was simply acting within the confines of the curse placed upon him. His was stronger than hers, for he had received a second dose from Voldemort, and hence he was more often the one to approach her for relief of his curse-related symptoms. Outside of the compulsion, he did not treat her as anything but a student. 

When he was not compelled, he was not lurid or suggestive, he had not taken advantage of her in any way, he was not informal with her, other than when he’d been forced to address her as ‘Hermione’ tonight, and he certainly didn’t look at her with the lust he did when his compulsion was troubling him. 

And she, like a classic fool, had misinterpreted his meaning. In her naivety, and in the newness of having sexual contact for the first time, she had allowed herself to confuse his behaviour during his episodes of compulsion, with his behaviour at all other times. 

Oh, Merlin, she fancied him. 

She fancied her bloody professor. 

He made her heart race, even when she was not compelled. When she thought of him, her knickers would soon be damp, and her eyes followed him wherever he went. 

She wanted him. 

Without the curse.

Hermione sat bolt upright in bed, toppling Snape from his position and making his eyes spring open. She had been correct, he hadn’t been asleep, not yet. Hugging her knees to her chest, she rested her forehead upon them, embarrassed by the discovery of her feelings, and needing to be out of these chambers immediately, as well as not wanting to leave. 

“Hermione,” he asked, quietly. “What is the matter?”

She looked up, pushing her legs down to cross them, and saw the raw concern in his dark eyes, that astonishing raven black that she had never noticed properly before now. She could not answer him. 

“Are you compelled?” he questioned further. 

Hermione shook her head. 

“Severus,” she started, tentatively, “may I call you Severus?”

“You may,” he replied, those endless eyes never leaving her face. “But only within the confines of my chambers or office.”

“Severus,” she continued, before a long pause where she gathered her nerve. “Are you compelled?”

“I am not,” he answered. 

“So, neither of us are compelled, right at this moment?”

“It would appear not.”

“Then how come we are here, naked in bed together?”

His eyes widened, not in fear but in what appeared to be rapidly advancing comprehension. He did and said absolutely nothing, as if unsure whether she was questioning or accusing.

Hermione suddenly knew exactly what she needed to know. 

She leaned towards him, flipping on to her knees and kneeling in front of him before placing a finger on his bottom lip, pulling it down slightly, and he allowed it. Seeing him concede, she could not help dropping her lips upon his, lightly bumping against his mouth with her own slightly open, and then drawing back. 

“Again,” he whispered, his voice no more than a hoarse rasp. 

Lowering her head a second time, she placed her mouth over his and nudged his lips upwards, and he lifted his chin to follow her path and prolong the soft brush of the kiss. 

“What are you doing, Hermione?” he asked, with a wary expression. 

Fuck. He was confused by her actions. She had been laying there in a stupidly romantic little haze wondering if there could be something more between them beyond the compulsion, and he was clearly horrified.

She had no idea why he’d asked if they could pretend to be lovers, but it obviously wasn’t because he secretly desired her. It must be the other reason, the playing of a role – a bit like the one he played out before Voldemort and before the school – was easier than the horror of what he was being forced to do. 

She sat back on her heels.

“I’m pretending,” she lied. “Isn’t that what you asked of me?”

There was the most curious look in his eyes, like resignation, mixed with the most potent disappointment, but with a flame of desire. She must be reading him completely wrong. 

Get a grip, Hermione, she inwardly berated herself. 

“Then,” he began, curling his mouth around the words as if he had chosen it very carefully, “let us pretend.”

He slipped an arm around the small of her back, guiding her towards him, still on her knees, and bowed his dark head to her breasts, taking one into his mouth and enclosing his lips around her areola whilst flickering his tongue around her nipple, which she could feel hardening under his touch. 

“Oh …” she breathed, arching her back in his direction, and he moved his hand to her free breast, stroking his full palm around it, as if assessing the size and weight, before beginning to gently roll her nipple between his fingers. 

Looking down at the dark head of this grown wizard suckling at her breast, Hermione felt a thrum of excitement between her legs, and involuntarily pushed her hips nearer to where he sat. He released her breast from his mouth, but continue to circle her other nipple with a solitary fingertip.

“Are you compelled?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No,” she replied. “Are you?”

“I am … not.”

They had both declared, and his chest was rising and falling as deeply as her own, and those endless, severe eyes were fixed immobile upon hers. The sound of her own breathing was echoing in her ears like the roar of a waterfall as he slowly slid his hand from the curve of her spine, around her hip and trailed his fingertips down the front of her mons, watching her intently as if to gauge her reaction. 

“Open your legs,” he requested, in a quiet, measured voice. 

Hermione allowed her knees to slide to the sides from her position kneeling in front of him on the mattress. He was now cross-legged opposite her, still toying with her nipple, and as she opened herself, he walked his fingers down to her spread labia, burrowing inside the soft lips to seek her clitoris and began to circle it, encouraging the little bud down from its concealing hood. 

“If for tonight, you are to play the role of my lover, then I should like to make you come, here in front of me, so that I may watch you shake with pleasure.”

Oh, my god. 

She swore that his already deep voice had dropped an octave and was now dripping pure seduction. Was this the tongue that he used to encourage witches into his bed? 

“Open your eyes.”

Hermione wasn’t aware that she had allowed them to close. His searching fingers were doing all manner of stroking and fluttering between her legs, and to her embarrassment, her hips were undulating wantonly with his movements. She tried to still herself. 

“Do not hold yourself back. Any movements or sounds of pleasure you make will only enhance your experience … and mine.”

Every nerve in body was now focusing its attention on Snape’s talented fingers, firmly and persistently exciting her clitoris. He did not touch her anywhere else down there, and with his spare hand he was alternating between nipples to roll and thumb them. 

“Do I excite you, Hermione? Tell me,” he urged, speeding up the motion of his hand as if he knew just what pressure and speed she needed. 

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, you do.”

“Whom are you addressing?” 

“Oh … Severus. That’s so … oh, nice … so weird to call you that, Sir.”

“Nonetheless that is my name, for the purposes of this activity.”

“Severus …” she gasped, as he appeared to take a hold of her whole clitoris and begin to wiggle it around, tugging it gently away from her body as he masturbated her. 

“Look at me,” he commanded. “And tell me.”

She placed her hand on his lean, strong shoulder for support, and forced herself to look into those eyes, that were doing as much for her arousal as his fingers were. 

“I want more,” she panted, very aware that her hips were now thrusting rather obscenely into the palm of his hand. 

“I will give you more. But how much will you let me take?”

His middle finger felt like a blur of movement on her clit as he frigged her ever closer to climax, and she couldn’t help but draw in little gasps of frantically aroused breath.

“You can take it all, Severus,” she said, quickly, digging her fingertips into his shoulder. 

“If you offer everything, be assured I will take it, my lover. I am not a stupid wizard.”

Hermione was so close to the edge, she felt like all good sense and reasoning had deserted her. 

“I’m going to … I want to …”

“Tell me,” he growled, not ceasing his assault on her rock-hard clit that felt distended from the rest of her. 

“I want to come, Severus.”

“And you will, my Hermione, you will indeed come right here in my hand. Keep going, little one. You are almost there.”

Just as she thought she would wet herself from the pressure, his frenzied tickling of her most sensitive part reached its peak, and she went rigid as her orgasm hit her, lurched over the peak, and then her hips began to thrust like a witch possessed as she rode out wave after wave of the most delicious climax. 

“Holy shit, Severus, shit, shit … ohhhh … shit.”

She heard him chuckle, and distantly, from her cloud of bliss, thought was a lovely sound it was. 

“Good girl,” he soothed, in that low, sexy drawl he was using that was making her head spin. “My good girl. You are coming beautifully. Keep writhing your leaking cunt against my hand, because it turns me on as much as it does you. Move against me, sweetheart.”

Hermione lifted her head to find him looking straight at her, and he wasted not a single moment before capturing her mouth in a rough kiss, snogging her with a passion that suggested he was just as aroused as she. 

He pulled her towards him so that he was laying on his back with her partway above him. She took the opportunity to stretch out her legs from the knees where they had been folded beneath her for so long, and he immediately pounced once he felt her move, toppling her flat on her back, climbing between her legs and pushing her thighs apart with his own. Hermione felt his hand down there, positioning his erection at her entrance and cramming himself inside her so fully that she cried out. 

“You feel that?” he snarled. “That is what you do to me, witch, with no fucking sign of the godforsaken compulsion.”

Snape slid his hard cock in and out of her at a breath-taking pace as he talked, pulling it almost all the way out, before sinking it back in, fast and deep.

“What a shame this is just pretend, Hermione Granger, for if this were real, I would take great delight in fucking your sublimely tight, wet cunt every day for the rest of my life.”

Hermione grabbed hold of his hips as held himself firmly above her, her hands following the deep thrusting and rotating movements he was making. 

“Hold me,” he begged, and he groaned long and loud as she gripped his bum cheeks and forced him harder and faster. “That’s it. I need your hands on me, do you hear? I need your eyes tied to mine. No more of this facing away rubbish. I want to fuck you like this … always like this.”

His face was contorted with effort and full of intense passion, but also seemed full of pain, as if he was trying to stop himself from saying any more. She moved one hand to his flank and caressed the skin there, which was surprisingly soft, although she could feel some ropey scarring under her fingers. His nostrils began to flare like a racehorse, and he had a dangerous look in his eye as he redoubled his efforts, and with a huge grunt, forced the finals few thrusts into her. 

 

“Uhhhhh! Fuck! Take it …” he gasped, his hips going rigid against her. “Take it all … take everything, please … take me, Hermione.”

She felt him spurt inside her, three or four times, groaning and thrusting hard with each eruption. To avoid falling on top of her, he rolled to one side, flat on his back and lying next to her. They were both breathing hard, attempting to force air back into their restricted lungs. Snape’s gradually become more regular, until it had slowed to steady, deep breaths, that turned to light snores which were rumbling out of his expansive nose. 

“I would take you, Severus,” she whispered, feeling a little sad and a little relieved, knowing that he was asleep and could not hear her.

-xxx-

There were also others that were awake in the small hours, that night, within the walls of Hogwarts castle. Orla was stealing along the corridors in the shadows, praying that she would not run into any Death Eaters on a night patrol in the hallways. 

She had not seen Draco for days now, not since he had left with Professor Snape and the other cretins the morning that the news had broken of Umbridge’s appointment to Minister. She’d heard a rumour that he was being secreted in a corner of the infirmary, and she couldn’t go another day without finding out exactly what had happened to him. 

He was clearly troubled, enough to attempt to form an alliance with a Muggle-born Hufflepuff that he’d never spoken to before, all because he thought she might have the nous to keep him alive in the Muggle world. 

She managed to reach Hospital Corridor undetected, and tiptoed down the long passageway towards the double infirmary doors. Pushing the door open enough to poke her head through, and hoping fervently that it didn’t creak, she looked down the long ward, flanked either side with rows of metal-framed beds, mostly empty, but the odd one had a sleeping student recumbent in it. There was no sign of Madam Pomfrey, and Orla wondered where she was. 

Pomfrey couldn’t be on duty twenty-four hours a day, and yet always seemed to be there for any student who required her assistance, day or night. It was most curious. 

Chancing that she would be able to talk herself out of trouble with the medi-witch if she did run into her, Orla slipped through the smallest gap possible and hung on to the door in order to close it behind her as quietly as possible. 

She tiptoed down the ward in her slippers, for she was wearing her pyjamas and dressing gown, visually checking each bed for an improbably-blond head, much like her own. Nothing. 

As she passed the glass-windowed office, she saw Madam Pomfrey asleep on a single bed, metal-framed like the others in the infirmary. These were her chambers? Surely not. 

At the end of the ward, there were a set of curtains pulled around the last bed. Bingo. 

Since Pomfrey was sleeping, Orla walked faster to the end of the room, opening the curtain a fraction and peeping inside, only to cover her mouth in shock at the state of Draco Malfoy. His nose, forehead and around his eyes were covered in vicious-looking bruises, in various purpling states of healing. His hospital pyjama top was open and she could see more bruising to his upper chest, and his sternum was completely wrapped in pristine, white hospital bandages. 

Orla slipped inside the cubicle and pulled the curtain fully closed behind her, casting a silencing charm around it and approached the bed, taking up the pale hand that was nearest to her. She didn’t much care if she woke him up, he was lying in bed all day long anyway, so he could make up his sleep. His eyes flickered, and then opened wide, his blue eyes filled with alarm, but then replaced with relief as he saw whom was visiting him in the middle of the night. 

“What are you doing here?” he whispered, as quietly as he could. 

“I’ve cast a silencing charm around us,” she explained, “you don’t have to whisper.”

“That wasn’t my question,” he smirked. 

“I thought you might want visitors, Malfoy,” she shrugged in reply. 

“Most visitors tend to come during daylight hours.”

“You’re telling me you’ve had previous visitors?”

The smirk fell from his face, and Orla pulled up the chair next to him and sat down, still holding his hand. 

“What happened, Draco?”

“Good news travels fast. Macnair wasted no time in spilling the beans about what he perceives to be our ‘illicit affair’ under the nose of Yaxley. The Dark Lord was quick to demonstrate his … displeasure with me.”

“Like this?”

“Like this. This is the world we are living in, Orla. This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. It isn’t just you, and what Yaxley is doing to you, although Merlin knows, that is fucked-up enough. Even those of us who are his privileged few …”

Draco paused, and his eyes flickered down to the Dark Mark, burning black on his pale forearm.

“Even those, do not escape his wrath or his punishment. And since I should never have been Marked in the first place, I am Undesirable Number One among the Death Eaters. They know I don’t belong, and they know I’m terrified. It is simply a matter of who will kill me first, and when.”

“What about your parents?”

“My father is off his fucking head on magical opiates most of the time, dulling the pain I suppose. My mother attempts to care for him, but she is so angry with him for the mess he has made of our lives, that their quarrels are a sight to behold.”

“So, what’s your plan, Slytherin King?”

“What?”

“Don’t be a bloody eejit. You know.”

Orla rolled her eyes and started absently plaiting her long white-blond hair over one shoulder, waiting for Draco’s brain to catch up with his mouth. 

“You weren’t interested in running,” Draco accused, narrowing his eyes at her. 

“I wasn’t then. Maybe I am now,” she replied, trying to hold his gaze but feeling tears prick her eyes and a lump form in her throat. 

“He’s hurt you even worse, hasn’t he?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to reply with the truth, that Yaxley had rent his own revenge for Draco’s outburst to Macnair by repeatedly fucking her up the arse and forcing her to submit to a sexual whipping, which he’d leered was erotic, but had felt exquisitely torturous to her. Her back had many sore welts all over, under her school uniform shirts. 

Draco forced himself to sit up, although it clearly pained him. 

“Would you run?”

“I’m terrified … but yes. It can’t be worse than what Yaxley is doing to me. But I worry about Hermione.”

“Granger? Why?”

“She’s receiving the same treatment from Snape. We need to get her out, too.”

“Three would be so much riskier than two. And Granger … she wouldn’t come quietly.”

“I’ll try and get her alone to talk while you’re recovering. Did Madam Pomfrey say how long?”

“A week, maybe longer,” he replied dismissively. 

An awkward silence stretched out between them, and he reached for her hand again. 

“I can get us out of Hogwarts. I know a failsafe way. I used it to let Death Eaters in last year. We won’t need to go out of the gates, and we won’t have to worry about Apparating out.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“You should be,” he replied, giving her a slightly arrogant smile. “But what about when we get out? Do you have a place we can go?”

“The rent on my flat is paid until the end of the month, so that will still be available to me. My job is more of problem, though, since I haven’t shown up to work since the beginning of May.”

“Is it quite easy to get jobs in the Muggle world?”

Orla laughed at his naivety and lack of knowledge. No wonder he’d needed the help of a Muggle-born. 

“Basic employment, such as in shops, restaurants, pubs and the suchlike, is easy. We’d just need to conjure you some paperwork; identification, National Insurance number, references, that kind of thing.”

He looked baffled, and she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“We’ll help each other, Malfoy. You need to get us both out of his castle, first.”

“Give me a week to mend my ribs and I’ll be right on it,” he retorted, smiling weakly. 

“I do have one question,” she asked.

“Go ahead.”

“I can see why you needed a Muggle-born. But why not Hermione? She’s cleverer and braver than I am, and you have far more in common with her than me, and you must know her better, since you’ve been taking classes together for seven years.”

“Honestly? Granger doesn’t need me. She’s strong, and self-sufficient. Plus, that irritating fucking lion would drive me insane within a week.” 

Orla laughed. 

“So, you think I need you, do you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

She stood up, knowing that she had already been here too long. 

“Get better, Malfoy. Mend those ribs. Now you’ve put this idea in my head, I want to put it into practice. I am going to talk to Hermione though. If she’s being treated like I am, we can’t leave her here.”

“Fine. Sound her out.”

“Speak to you soon.”

Draco raised his hand in farewell. 

Orla snuck quietly back down the centre aisle of the infirmary, checking that Madam Pomfrey was still fast asleep in her office, and that all the occupants of the hospital beds had remained sleeping too. Belatedly, she realised that she had forgotten to lift the silencing charm around his cubicle, and hoped that he would remember to do so. Oops. 

She opened one of the main doors a short way, just enough for her slip through, and held on to the door as she closed it behind her, lest it bang against the frame and expose her at the final hurdle. 

Orla hadn’t even turned from the door to walk away when a rough hand clamped around her mouth from behind, dragging her down the corridor, backwards and away from the infirmary doors.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A little midnight visit to the patient, Mudblood?”

Orla struggled wildly as the unknown assailant pulled her down the corridor, one strong arm clamped around her waist and a foul-smelling hand across her mouth. From the sheer size and strength, it had to be a man. After they’d passed a few doorways, he barged one open with his shoulder and dragged her into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. 

She bit down hard on his finger, which tasted just as putrid as it smelt. He swore, and released her, roughly shoving her away from him into the small room, which looked like some kind of medical store room for the infirmary, or perhaps some kind of filing room, as there was a wall of dusty, cobwebby record ledgers down one side. 

Orla spun round, coming face to face with the gigantically tall Amycus Carrow, who was shaking the pain from his finger and approaching her with a face like thunder. He grabbed her around the neck, his thumb poking painfully into the side of her neck. 

“A little midnight visit to the patient, Mudblood?”

“Get off me!”

Carrow grabbed one of her hands to stop her attempting to free herself. 

“Tell me what you were doing in the hospital wing! If you don’t, I’ll kill you right here in this office.”

“Let me go! I can’t talk while you’re choking me!”

The Death Eater seemed to realise that talking would be somewhat difficult, so he released her neck and throat, and backed her against the wall of leather-bound ledgers, holding her there by her shoulders. 

“Start talking,” he spat, breathing hideously close to her face. 

“I went to see Madam Pomfrey about an injury I have. How did you know I was in there, anyway? Did you follow me through the halls? It’s none of your business!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, scum. Everything in this school is my business, including dirty little Mudbloods that are out of bed in the middle of the night. Looking for trouble, no doubt. Well, you’ve certainly found it, little girl.” 

He leered at her, dropping a hand to paw one of her breasts through her dressing gown, and she slapped his hand away.

“You can’t touch. I belong to Yaxley, remember?”

“What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him,” Carrow drawled, continuing to grope her. 

“He put Malfoy in the hospital just for holding my hand. Are you so sure that the same or worse won’t happen to you?”

Amycus slammed her head angrily against the wooden shelving, forcing dust to jump from the old, long-forgotten rows of ledgers, and causing her back to ache as the spines hit the damaged skin on her back. She felt the trickle of blood. 

“You know nothing, you filthy slut. Nothing of the arrangements of the Death Eaters.”

“Is Draco Malfoy not a Death Eater?”

Carrow sneered, evilly. 

“Draco Malfoy’s marking was nothing more than a punishment for his father. He is not deserving of the Dark Mark. The younger Malfoy draws no respect or comradeship from the rest of us. It is a wonder the boy is still alive.”

Orla tried to breathe quietly, not wanting to interrupt him so that he would tell her more. 

“Any excuse that can be made to eliminate the little shit will be used,” he muttered. 

“So, that’s the real reason you’re hanging around outside the infirmary like a bad smell in the middle of the night? You were going to try and attack Draco in his bed?”

A shadow of regret passed over Carrow’s face as he seemed to realise just how much he had revealed to her, and this seemed to draw his attention away from her rudeness. 

“One more night won’t matter,” he snarled. “Not when I’ve found something so tasty to play with instead.”

He leaned towards her and sunk his teeth into the curve of her neck, and she screamed in pain. As a reflex action she drew her knee upwards, striking him firmly between the legs as hard as she could. He recoiled backwards, bent over double.

Orla didn’t waste a second. Ripping her wand from the sleeve of her dressing gown, she fired a spell at the bookshelf as she reached the door, sending the heavy ledgers flying from the shelves and firing themselves directly at Carrow, thumping into his head and back, one after the other, and he roared in pain. 

Flinging the door open, she set off at a run, for he would be on her tail in an instant. Thinking quickly, she realised that she would never make it all the way back to the Hufflepuff common room before he caught up with her, so she headed back the way she had come, running up the echoing corridor back to the infirmary, yanking open the tall door and calling for Madam Pomfrey as she continued to run towards the Medi-Witch’s office. 

The old witch was pulling her dressing gown around herself as Orla reached her office door. 

“Madam Pomfrey, please help me,” she panted, desperately, “I have some wounds on my back, and I think they’ve split and are bleeding.”

She desperately tried to calm her frantic breathing and sense of panic. 

“Of course, dear,” Pomfrey answered, and gestured towards an empty bed. 

“Can we go down here, at the end of the ward?” she asked, thinking that she wanted to put as much distance between her and the main door as possible, and at the end of the ward she could be nearer to Draco, too.

“Is there a problem, Miss Roach?”

“There’s … there is a Death Eater, Madam Pomfrey. He … chased me here when I was coming to see you. He was trying to hurt me and I hexed him. I think he will follow me in here.”

It was only a slight twisting of the truth. She wasn’t about to tell the Medi-Witch that she’d already been in here once this evening, sneaking past her sleeping form to covertly visit Draco Malfoy. The rest was true, and Pomfrey’s mouth narrowed in disapproval. 

“There will be no abuse of students in my hospital wing,” she sniffed, and led Orla right to the end of the ward, next to the curtained bed that Draco was using. 

Clearly, Malfoy had been placed at end of the ward for his own protection, too. 

Orla pulled the waist tie on her dressing gown and removed it before sitting down on the bed, facing away from Pomfrey. She then pulled the Hufflepuff Quidditch tshirt she was wearing as a pyjama top over her head, baring her back to the Medi-Witch, who took a sharp intake of breath at the sight of her flayed spine. 

“Orla Roach! Who did this to you? Or can I presume?”

“You can presume, Madam Pomfrey,” she replied, and she could not help the tears welling up behind her eyes. 

She had not sought any medical help since Yaxley had begun abusing her, and as the old Healer gently touched her back to assess the damage, she wished she had. There was no reason to suffer any more than she needed to. 

“Are there any other injuries you would like to me look at, Miss Roach?” 

“I, um …”

“Have you been raped?”

“Yes.”

“Were you a virgin?”

“I was not. Well, not in the normal sense, but there is more than one way to rape.”

“You were anally raped?”

Orla was surprised to find she could not reply, but merely choke out a sob and nod her head. She had been so busy trying to be strong, that she hadn’t realised how much the constant abuse was hurting her, physically and emotionally. She suddenly remembered the silencing charm she had accidentally left around Draco’s bed, and hoped that he had not had the presence of mind to lift it. This was not a conversation she’d like anyone else to overhear. 

Madam Pomfrey sighed heavily, pulling the curtain around the bed, and bidding Orla to lay on her stomach whilst she began to heal the welts on her back. She pronounced that they were not too deep, only surface damage, but were still unacceptable. There was a pleasant warming feeling as she ran her wand over the marks the lashes had left, and Orla wished again that she had sought medical help earlier. There were no prizes for suffering unnecessarily, it didn’t make one any braver. 

There was a far-away bang which must be the infirmary door opening, and Orla froze. 

“I shall return. Stay here,” Pomfrey instructed, and she left the cubicle, her feet pattering softly up the central aisle between the beds. 

“I seek the Mudblood.” 

“Miss Roach is receiving medical treatment for a severe injury, Professor Carrow, inflicted by one of your own. I suggest that any business you have with her should be taken up with her Head of House, Professor Sprout.”

“Get out of my way, you interfering old hag!”

“I believe I made myself quite clear, Professor Carrow. This is a place of healing and recovery, of which I am in full charge. If you wish to change the rules of the school infirmary, which dictates that the Medi-Witch decides whether a patient is, or is not, permitted visitors – then I suggest you take it up with the Headmaster, for it is only to him that I answer, as my Healing qualifications outrank every professor in this school, excepting the Head. My decision for tonight is that Miss Roach is not permitted to have visitors until her injuries are healed.”

There was a long silence, and for a moment Orla was terrified that Carrow had simply struck the old woman down and was about to burst through the curtain to her bedside, but after a time there was a dull thud of the infirmary door opening and closing, and then Madam Pomfrey returned to her bedside as if nothing had happened. 

“I’m sorry for that interruption, dear. Now, if you could just slip your pyjama trousers down, and rise up on all fours so I can examine you, that’s it, I’m sorry, I know this is terribly personal, especially after such an ordeal. I promise I will be as quick and gentle as I can.”

Orla complied, not feeling half as humiliated as she’d done when Yaxley had forced her to assume the same position before thrusting an unknown object into her arse to ‘prepare’ her for his invading cock, which was actually pathetically small compared to the hard object he had shoved inside.

“You have a large tear, my love. I can heal it, but you’ll need to stay very still.”

“I will. Please, just do what you need to do.”

-xxx-

Later, when Madam Pomfrey had finished her healing and helped Orla reclothe herself, she had tucked her into the hospital bed and left her with strict instructions to sleep for as long as she needed. Her pains were gone, and Orla was just chiding herself for the fifth time about how stupid she’d been not to have sought help sooner, when the curtain between their beds flipped open, and Draco was the other side, looking at her from his own bed, his eyes full of tears, and his face wet with the ones already shed. 

“You removed the silencing charm, then?” she asked. 

“I did.”

“So now you know.”

“Did you run into Carrow outside the infirmary when you left here?” Draco asked, angrily. 

“Yes. He was on me even before I’d fully closed the door. He was coming here to get you, Draco. He just ran into me first and thought he’d try his luck, like everyone else.”

“He raped you?”

“Not even close,” she smirked. “My knee hit his bollocks so fast he didn’t know which end was up.”

“Nice one.”

“Did you hear what I said, Malfoy? Ignore the bit about me. Carrow was coming here to attack you. He told me that it’s only a matter of time that one of them kills you, that the Death Eaters don’t see you as an equal.”

“What do you think I’ve been trying to tell you?”

“I’m so sorry. I was so blind, I just didn’t see the bigger picture outside of my own suffering.”

“Your own suffering is only going to get worse.”

“I know.”

“Time to run?”

Orla looked at Draco, a steely determination in her ice-blue eyes. 

“Time to run,” she agreed. 

-xxx-

Severus roughly scrubbed at his hair under the shower, contrary to popular belief, he did wash it regularly, and circled his neck to allow the heavy fall of the hot water to pound against his sore muscles. He had slept in a most uncomfortable position, not realising this until he had woken, of course. 

He’d left Miss Granger sound asleep, managing to leave the bed without disturbing her, and this was probably a good thing, for he had no idea what to say to the girl. What did one say to a student that you had fucked four times within the preceding ten hours?

He had allowed himself to fall prey to the most disgusting lapse in concentration, focus and self-control, and shown the child his vulnerability, his neediness, and his insane desire for her that went way beyond the edicts of the compulsion. Why she had played along with it, he had no idea. Perhaps she, like him, was so fed up of being controlled like a puppet, that it had felt good to do something of her own volition for once. She’d clearly enjoyed it, physically speaking, but he wondered what level of regret she would be feeling this morning. 

Stepping out of the shower and shrugging on his green towelling bathrobe, he cleaned his teeth and shaved his face, before magically drying his body and hair, and dressing in every stitch of his usual black armour that he had brought into the bathroom with him. It would not do to face Miss Granger in a bathrobe, or indeed in any state of undress. No, he would be fully clothed in his usual attire, and attempt to be completely professional. 

Buttoning up his feelings one by one along with his coat, he chanced a quick look in the mirror, seeing his unlovely, austere face scowling back at him. Well, there was nothing he could do about that, this what was nature and his parents’ crappy genetics had given him. 

He re-entered the bedroom to find Granger almost fully dressed, her tie still undone around her neck as she brushed her hair, but everything else seemed to be in order. 

“Good morning … Sir.”

“Good morning, Miss Granger. I trust you slept well?”

She nodded. 

“It is probably wise that we have a brief discussion before you leave. Please, go ahead and use the bathroom for your own ablutions, and I shall meet you in my office when you are ready.”

He swept out with an air of arrogance that he could have kicked himself for. Why was he being such an arse?

You’re scared, you stupid bastard. You showed her too much. 

Ignoring the nagging voice at the back of his mind, he walked over to the fireplace in his office, ordering breakfast through the Floo connection to the kitchens, for he certainly did not wish to face the Great Hall this morning. He could not help but let his gaze drift to the blank wall beside the mantelpiece as he stood up, the wall that he had pressed her against and taken her so forcefully last night. 

That had been the compulsion, of course, for them both, but it had been no less spectacular for that. When was the last time he had taken a willing witch up against a wall? Fucking years ago, that was how long. This girl was rejuvenating feelings and desires in him that he thought had been condemned to the depths two decades ago. 

He heard the creak of his bedchamber door, and she came through, her hair pulled back from her face, neat and ready for the day’s lessons. Her Gryffindor house tie was now correctly tied, and her bookbag was over her shoulder. She had prepared, this time, so that she was not forced to creep down the corridors in her nightwear. That such a student had been forced into doing what she was, and yet still have enough intelligence to prepare for the inevitable, was completely commendable. He felt like a pervert of the highest degree. 

Gesturing for her to sit in one of the armchairs on the hearth, she did so, and he seated himself in the other one, watching her as she looked at him expectantly. 

“Firstly, Miss Granger, I must ask if you are feeling any effects of the compulsion this morning?”

“None at all. What about you?”

“Likewise. My compulsion is completely silent.”

“Why is that?”

Trust her to go straight for the difficult questions. He coughed, embarrassed, before mentally scolding himself to get a fucking grip and answer her perfectly reasonable question. 

“I believe that since we engaged in full intercourse on three occasions last night, whilst under the compulsion, that it would have been satisfied. From what I can deduce, full mutual intercourse buys the longest period of relief from curse-related symptoms.”

“Almost like banking credits for future use?”

“That is a rather Muggle way of describing it, but yes, I suppose so.”

“I see. We did it three times?”

“Four,” he replied, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepling his fingers under his chin. “The final time was not under the influence of the compulsion.”

“Four?”

“Over my desk, then again in the bed – thus making us late for Grimmauld Place, against that wall next to the fire when we returned, and then … the last time.”

He was absolutely certain that he was blushing, thinking how fucking unmanly that was. 

“Oh. You’re right. It was four. That’s quite a lot. It didn’t feel like … a lot. You know, I didn’t feel like it was a big effort, or an imposition. But have you ever had sex four times in one night before? Shit, that was personal, I’m sorry. And I’m making this sound all wrong. I’m sorry.”

“It was certainly not a chore, Miss Granger,” he confirmed, allowing the corner of his mouth to curl up in what he hoped was a reassuring smile, rather than a predatory shark. 

“Should we talk about the last time, you know, when we had sex when we didn’t have to?”

“I would suggest that we write it up as a temporary aberration of our usually excellent judgement.”

“Oh. Okay. Let’s do that.”

“I would also like to apologise.”

“You have no reason to. I … enjoyed it.”

“As did I. But I have reason to apologise because I will not need to conjure any markings on you, today.”

She looked at him in confusion, and so he summoned a hand mirror from his bedchamber, which came floating through the open door and into his hand, and he passed it to her. 

“I believe I was a little over-enthusiastic upon your neck. I am sorry.”

He watched her look in the small mirror and locate the large, dark bruise on the side of her neck and examine it, which he remembered making with his greedy mouth as he had pounded her against the wall not three feet from where they were sitting. 

“It doesn’t matter. You were going to have to conjure marks on me anyway.”

She handed the mirror back to him, and he sent it back to where it had come from. 

“Well them. I suggest that we go about our day. If my suspicions are correct, we should have earned ourselves a long period of respite from the curse, so I should not have need to call on you for assistance today, perhaps even tomorrow. I am not entirely sure.”

“Well, that’s good then, I suppose?”

“It is, indeed. Of course, should you have need of my assistance, it goes without saying that you may attend this office at any time. You are unrestricted, do you understand? The password is mozzarella.”

The little chit actually laughed at him. A full snort-laugh.

“Mozzarella? That’s brilliant. Reflects the Muggle side of your heritage and isn’t something anyone would ever guess. I would have presumed something like ragwort or nightshade or pustule or …”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Granger. Maybe I am not so dark as you might think? A Muggle pizza, dripping with melting mozzarella is a treat in which I am very rarely able to indulge.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” she grinned, clearly in a better mood with the change to a more light-hearted subject, and he could not help but return it, just a little. 

“Go. The breakfast bell has already rung, and you have a busy day ahead of you, as do I.”

She nodded, and got up from the chair, picking up her bookbag and heading towards the main door of his office. He pointed his wand towards it as she reached it, releasing the security ward and opening it for her. 

“Why, thank you, Professor Snape. How very chivalrous of you.” 

She left with a final smile, closing the door behind her, and he finally allowed himself to release the tightly-held breath that had been threatening to close the back of his throat since she had asked that question. 

“Have you ever had sex four times in one night before, Professor Snape?”

Not like that, he thought. Not with anyone as sublime as you. 

-xxx-

Hermione wanted to curse her own stupidity as the revolving spiral staircase brought her back down to Gargoyle Corridor from the Headmasters’ office. Snape had been mortified this morning, all fully-dressed and formal, and she was grateful that she’d had the presence of mind to get dressed herself whilst he’d been in the bathroom for such an eternity, to save them both the embarrassment of her still being naked in his bed. 

He was just a human wizard, after all, the fact that he was sexually excited by a witch in his bed wasn’t any solid evidence that he had deeper feelings for her. She had just been taken in by the passion of the encounters they’d had whilst compelled. This was not a relationship, there were no hidden feelings. 

They were doing what needed to be done, just as she had so sensibly suggested right at the beginning, not that she felt very sensible at present. 

Professor McGonagall was walking up Gargoyle Corridor as Hermione was walking down it. 

“Miss Granger, I was just coming to find you. Are you well?” McGonagall asked, somewhat awkwardly, which was strange, considering they’d spent hours together at Grimmauld. 

“Er, yes, professor, I am fine?”

“I heard the news from your dormitory mate that you had been summoned to the Headmaster’s office. She was quite beside herself with worry. As your Head of House, I am here to provide you with pastoral care when you need it. What is this bruising on your neck?”

Hermione blushed, and was about to reply when Walden Macnair materialised next to McGonagall. He must have been walking with her, under a Disillusionment charm. 

Ah. That made sense. 

“It seems that one of your cubs has run into a spot of trouble, Minerva,” he smirked, looking lasciviously at the huge love bite on Hermione’s neck. 

“As I told you, Professor Macnair,” McGonagall spat, “as Head of House my duty is to provide pastoral care to all Gryffindor students, of which Miss Granger is clearly one. Whatever fate has befallen her under the dubious leadership of your … organisation, does not exempt her from her rights as my student. Miss Granger, please come with me to my office, I shall arrange for us to have breakfast there.”

“Make sure she’s not late for her first lesson, Minerva. She wouldn’t want any more punishment today.”

McGonagall wisely ignored him, and began to escort Hermione through the corridors to her private office, a round room with drapes of red, a cherry wood desk and squashy crimson sofas that Hermione adored. As she ushered her inside and set a privacy ward on the door, both their shoulders relaxed. 

“Hermione! I am sorry to alarm you, my dear, but as you can see I was being tailed by that dreadful man. Of course, I am not checking up on you, I am sure that Severus ensured that you passed a pleasant night, but we all must be seen to play the game, hideous as it is.”

“I know, Professor. Do not worry.”

“I have already taken the liberty of ordering breakfast, so that you may be spared the indignity of the Great Hall this morning. I have advised Miss Patil and Mr Finnigan that you will be with me, so that they are not caused further worry. My, your neck is a piece of work. I can see that Severus was quite creative, this time.”

Hermione’s head jerked up in surprise, before remembering that McGonagall would of course be thinking that Snape had conjured the love bite, rather than put it there himself with his own lips and teeth. Her face burned at the memory, and she turned away, pretending to be fascinated with a painting that was on the office wall. 

Their breakfast arrived, and the attending house-elf set it upon a small table that was set for two. The smell of the delicious Hogwarts food was enough to tempt her to the table, and she sat happily down with her Head of House. 

“You know, Hermione, that we cannot freely discuss the happenings at Grimmauld Place whilst within the castle? My office is secure, but one can never be too sure.”

“I understand,” she replied, inelegantly eating a piece of crispy bacon with her fingers. 

“But you should be aware that I am always here for you, if you need me. Do you understand that? Severus and I will have to be exceptionally careful to maintain our current working relationship, if I were seen to be openly supportive of him, it would create suspicion and undermine what we are trying to do.”

“I know. But I really am alright, I promise. Professor Snape has been very kind to me, and his quick thinking saved me from a far worse ordeal.”

“That man,” she mused, indulgently. “I will never understand him, I’m sure. I hope when all this is over, he can find some peace.”

The older witch did not elaborate further, leading Hermione to wonder exactly what she might have meant. 

-xxx-

Madam Pomfrey pulled back the curtain, and entered quickly, noting the open curtain between their two beds. 

“You two are both on the list that I have given to the teaching staff as not being well enough to attend lessons today. I suggest that whatever you need to do, you do it soon, whilst all staff and their … assistants, are otherwise engaged in classes. The day’s first lesson has already started. From what I heard, you may not get a chance at a second night in here, either of you.”

Both Orla and Draco looked at the old Medi-Witch in surprise. How much had she heard last night? Neither of them had recast the silencing charm once Orla had been admitted herself. But it seemed like she was firmly on their side. 

“Draco is not fully healed, Madam Pomfrey,” she began. “Is there anything you can do to speed the process?”

“There is, but it will hurt,” she warned. 

“I don’t care,” Draco replied, barely letting her finish her sentence. “Do it.”

Pomfrey pointed her wand at his healing ribs and cast an incantation, and he grimaced in pain, throwing his head back on the pillow and clenching his teeth until she had finished, and replaced the wand in the waistband of her apron. 

“I need to get to my common room,” Orla told her. “I have a bag there with the things we will need.”

“I will open the Floo connection for you. Hufflepuff? That was my house, when I was a student here, years ago. Give my regards to the Fat Friar, will you?”

Orla hopped out of her bed, her injured body now feeling a million times better after the treatment she had received during the night, and walked towards the large fireplace at the end of the ward, just near their beds. Pomfrey handed her the Floo powder and she scooped up a handful, throwing it into the flames and calling out, “Hufflepuff common room!”

It was deserted, as of course it would be, for everyone was in their first lesson of the day. Orla ran through the winding passages of the common room, heading for her dormitory that she shared with three other girls. She threw off her nightclothes and put on some underwear, loving that she could now fasten her bra without wincing from the pain in her back. Rifling in her drawer, she pulled out a pair of Muggle jeans, a tshirt, a jacket and a pair of trainers. She also grabbed a second pair for Draco, as she doubted he had any shoes in the hospital wing, and they could be transfigured to fit him. 

Hidden under her bed was a small rucksack containing all the things that she had brought to Hogwarts on the night of the battle, the night that the illicit wizarding radio she listened to relentlessly had put out an urgent call for more fighters, more helpers, anyone - they had begged, could be put to good use in their reinforcements. Orla had heard their call and could not stand by, so she’d followed their directions to Apparate to the Hogs Head and enter the school from there. 

The rest was largely a blur. She had not fought, but had been helping the injured and dying in the Great Hall, doing what she could. She’d also assisted McGonagall to evacuate the majority of the stranded Muggle-borns. 

There was no time to think about it now, though. Throwing the rucksack over one shoulder, she took a last look at her familiar dormitory, knowing it was certainly the last time she would see this room, but pressed on back to the common room, heading for the fire and back to the infirmary, where she found Draco standing and wearing actual clothes. 

“I transfigured his pyjamas,” Pomfrey explained. “I doubted that he could go on the run wearing hospital stripes.”

Orla passed her the trainers, which Pomfrey duly expanded to fit Draco – he must have flippers for feet, because her trainers now looked huge. 

“Do you know what you are doing from here?” she asked, looking anxiously between the two of them. “It is likely you will only have one chance at this.”

“We do,” Draco replied, with surprising confidence. 

“I am going to ask just one thing of you. I am going to return to my office, and I ask you to cast a Stupefy upon me, followed by an Obliviate. I cannot risk remaining here and being the holder of this information, and I will be found unconscious, which will lend credence to my story. Now, of course you will both be blamed for this, but would I be correct in thinking that the pair of you are in enough trouble already that knocking out the school Medi-Witch is not a major crime to add to your list?”

“We’ll do it,” Draco assured, taking his wand out of the sleeve of his transfigured jumper, and looking pointedly at the large clock that was on the hospital wall, indicating that there was half an hour left before the end of the first lesson, after which the school would be on the move. 

-xxx-

They had managed to get all the way across the school without meeting a single soul. Peeves had floated past them, and they were both terrified he was going to open his loud, annoying mouth and expose them, but the poltergeist seemed pre-occupied and didn’t even raise a comment that two students were out of uniform and out of lessons. Perhaps he was still in some kind of magical shell-shock after the battle, in which he had played a major part. 

Orla realised that they were on the seventh floor, heading towards the Room of Requirement, although there was no portrait of dancing trolls to indicate the entrance since all portraits had been removed from the castle and destroyed by the Death Eaters, but Draco seemed to know exactly where he was. 

“You know what you are doing?” she whispered, and he nodded, putting his finger to his lips and walking towards the wall until he was right up close to where the doorway would appear. 

“I need the room where all things are hidden,” he said, in an undertone, as loud as he dared. 

The wall began to shiver, and the door to the Room of Requirement rippled into view. Draco grabbed the handle impatiently and pulled it open, ushering her through first and then stepping through behind, closing the door immediately. 

“Fuck,” he said, looking around the room in sheer horror. “Fucking hell.”

The huge room gaped before them like a yawning chasm, with what looked like a black tidal wave that had become solid, looming high above. Draco’s eyes shot around the room, fear clearly visible. It was as if an enormous volcano had erupted, spilling lava across the entirety of the room, before solidifying into a hard, black mass that was everywhere the eye could see. 

“The vanishing cabinet was in here,” he muttered. 

“The what?”

“The vanishing cabinet. It was how I let the Death Eaters into the castle last year. You step into it, and it takes you to wherever the other cabinet is kept. This other half of this one is in Borgin and Burkes. I was going to take us there using the cabinet, Stupefy the cretin that works in there, and get you to Apparate us to your flat.”

“What happened in here?” she asked, looking around at the intimidating room. 

“Crabbe used Fiendfyre to take down Potter, the stupid fucking idiot. He killed himself doing it, and it was only due to Potter and Weasley grabbing Goyle and I on their broomsticks that we didn’t die alongside him. I didn’t even think I’d find the room like this. I suppose I just thought it would … repair itself.”

“If you return to the same room, it will be exactly as you left it,” she explained, gently. 

He turned to her, his face full of panic. 

“But what the fuck do we do now, Orla? This was my part of the plan, and its fucked. How do we get outside the castle wards?”

Malfoy looked as horrifyingly desperate as she felt. 

Shit.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Draco, we need to get out of this room. I have an idea. It might not work, but it’s better than standing here like a couple of gaping fish.”

Orla stared at Draco, seeing her own panic mirrored in his face. This had been his only plan, his only way to escape the school wards undetected. and it had been scuppered before it had even begun. What on earth should they do now, creep back to the infirmary as if nothing had happened, return to their beds and suffer the abuse and the death threats?

No. There was no way they could go back now, they’d made their decision to run, but there was no way that anything in this huge room would be useable, even if they did manage to locate the vanishing cabinet under the waves of solid black that covered every item in the room like an iron blanket. 

It certainly looked very different from the last time she had been in this room, when she had arrived to find it strung with hammocks and filled with students who were hiding from the regime within the castle, all of whom soon joined the fray and most likely paid with their lives. 

She wondered …

“Draco, we need to get out of this room. I have an idea. It might not work, but it’s better than standing here like a couple of gaping fish.”

Malfoy was so keen to grasp any straw of a replacement idea that he did not question her, but allowed her to chivvy him out of the door they had just entered through, and close it behind them, leaving them exposed in the thankfully empty seventh-floor corridor. The door rippled and disappeared, and the wall was solid stone again, bearing no sign of the secrets that lay behind it. 

They were not safe here, and they both knew it; there was little time to waste. Orla stood close to the wall, and whispered quietly against it as Draco had done. 

“I need the room that the students used to hide in.”

Nothing happened. The wall remained resolutely the same. 

“I need the room that Dumbledore’s Army hid in.”

She tried again, noting the raise of Draco’s eyebrow at her mention of the DA, but still nothing happened, and she was still panicking. 

“I need the room that has the secret passage to the Hog’s Head,” she hissed, in desperation, not sure what else to try. 

It seemed that this request had been specific enough, for the wall rippled and began to form into the door again. Draco grabbed her hand as if he could not contain his excitement without screeching, which would be most inadvisable at the present time. 

When the door was fully formed, she pushed it open, finding herself back in the room through which she had first entered Hogwarts on the night of the battle. The hammocks were still there, discarded bags, piled up cups and plates, the wizarding radio and blankets everywhere. 

“This is where they were hiding?” Draco asked, looking in barely-concealed surprise around the vast room. 

“Yes. But there’s no time for a tour. Come with me, now.”

She led him across the room, negotiating their way through the mess, and up the flight of stairs that led to a large portrait of a witch attempting to pose a warthog. It came away from the wall quite easily at her touch and she yanked it open, seeing the familiar passage stretching away from her. 

“Cast Lumos,” she instructed, “and follow me. Do not say a single word whilst we are in the tunnel, because all sound travels up through the airholes in the roof and if anyone should be walking in the grounds, we will be heard.”

He nodded to show that he understood, drawing his wand and illuminating the tip. Orla took a deep breath, and headed into the tunnel, hoping against hope that it was still the secret passage that led to the Hog’s Head inn. 

There was no logical reason why it shouldn’t be, since the passage itself was a facet of the Room of Requirement, and therefore unplottable and unreachable. There was no way the Death Eaters could have discovered it unless they had been able to access the exact room that had been used as a hideout. Given the state of the room, which looked clearly like dozens of teenagers had just left it, she thought this was unlikely. 

The tunnel seemed to go on forever, completely pitch dark with the only light available coming from the end of their wands. Finally, finally, they reached a dead end and she ran her hands over the wall, looking for the catch that would release the portrait the other end. 

With the help of Draco shining his beam over the wall, she eventually found and unfastened it, climbing down from the portrait hole, onto a table conveniently placed there and then down on to the floor. They were in the same room at the back of the Hog’s Head tavern from which Aberforth Dumbledore had bid them farewell a few short weeks ago. 

As Draco’s feet hit the wooden floor, the door on the other side of the room flew open, and a tall, shabby-looking man with lots of straggly hair and a long grey beard filled the entrance. 

“I was wondering when some of you would start coming back through,” he growled. “What’s been happening up there?”

“Mr Dumbledore, I’m very sorry to arrive in your back room like this,” Orla began, but the old barman held up a wrinkled hand to silence her. 

“I’m only surprised it wasn’t sooner, Miss. Now, you were here a few weeks back, weren’t you? I remember your voice. An Irish lilt like that, you were pretty distinctive.”

“I was. I came to … help.”

“There was nothing any of us could have done to help, once Potter fell to the Dark Lord.”

They were all silent. 

“Can we Apparate from here?” Draco asked. 

Aberforth looked over at him as if seeing him for the first time, his blue eyes travelling up and down before carefully examining Draco’s face, and then her own. 

“Are you two both Malfoys?” he asked, suspiciously. 

“I am, Sir, but Orla is not. She’s Muggle-born.”

“Gone over the other side, Malfoy?” Aberforth asked, and he looked hopeful he continued to stare at Draco. 

“You could say that.”

The old barman seemed to appraise the two of them, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as if wondering whether she was there of her own free will. 

“You can leave from this room. It’s got no charms on it. Whatever you’re doing, stay safe. And I never saw you, okay?”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Aberforth nodded curtly and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him and they heard the key turn in the lock. 

“I’m all yours,” Draco said, softly, taking her arm. 

Orla concentrated hard on the quiet, deserted alleyway a few roads away from her Muggle flat, closing her eyes and focusing on the destination, for this was one Apparition she could not afford to mess up, and she’d never Side-Alonged anyone before, either.

Crack.

They were pulled through the constricting tunnel of her inexpert Apparition and landed hard in the dirty alleyway. Draco spun against the wall and supported himself with his hand against the red bricks, retching towards the floor, but thankfully nothing was coming up, since neither of them had eaten so far that day. 

“Fucking hell, Roach,” he chided, when he finally stood up. “I won’t be travelling with your transportation service again.”

“Sorry it wasn’t a smooth ride,” she replied, with a touch of sarcasm, “but you’ll be happier when I tell you that my destination at least, was correct, and we are exactly where we need to be. Come on.”

He followed her down the narrow alleyway until they reached an equally grotty-looking street, and then drew alongside her as they walked along the pavement, the grey terraced houses and surfeit of litter strewn around making the run-down road look even worse.

“Where are we?”

“This is York. It’s a city, but smaller and less well-known than London. I actually come from a small village in Ireland, but obviously I had to get away from there after my parents were killed, I’d have been found in a heartbeat if I’d tried to live there. Turn here, and we’re getting into a better area, this is a nicer street, I just use the one we landed in for Apparition as they alleyway is always deserted.”

Orla and Draco walked down two more residential streets, before turning into the main high street, a relatively busy thoroughfare with shops, cafes and businesses down both sides of the road. 

“I’m a few doors down. My flat is over the pharmacy, which is where I used to work.”

“What is a pharmacy?” he asked, wrinkling his nose, and she laughed. 

“I suppose a Malfoy wouldn’t lower themselves to take Muggle Studies?” she asked, and the slight blush of shame on his face suggested that she was correct. 

“I’m sorry, it doesn’t matter. This is what you needed me for. A pharmacy is a place that Muggles go to get medicines and tablets for when they are ill, or first aid items, toiletries, that kind of thing.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Orla.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“Like an apothecary, Draco!”

“Oh. So, for potions and stuff?”

“They definitely do not sell potions. Anyway, here we are. I’ll tell you more about exactly what purpose a pharmacy serves at another time. Don’t look in the window, I don’t want my boss to see me until I’ve got back into the flat and I can go and beg her for my job back. I told her that I had a personal issue to sort out and that I hoped to only be a couple of days, and I’ve been gone over three weeks with notice. Up here, come.”

There was a small door with peeling brown paint next to the pharmacy and between the shop next door, a bakery. She had already been rummaging in her rucksack for her door keys and had them out ready, and was most pleased to find that they still fitted the lock – at least Brenda hadn’t changed the locks during her unexplained absence. Her rent was paid until the end of the month, so Orla supposed her landlady couldn’t really have done much until that time anyway. 

She pushed open the door and gestured to Draco to walk up the stairs that were straight in front of them as they entered. In fact, they were so close that the door bumped on the edge of the bottom step. As he passed her, she closed the front door firmly and double-locked it before following him up the steep flight of stairs, carpeted in a threadbare red stair runner, with a wonky bannister down one side. 

Malfoy was already standing in her room when she reached the top, looking around at the very small space within. 

“I told you it wasn’t much,” Orla muttered, embarrassed, but strangely glad to be back here, at the same time. 

The studio flat was over the pharmacy, but did not lead directly down there. To get to work, she would leave her flat via the stairs and front door, and then enter the pharmacy by the main door of the shop, which she was grateful for as it protected her privacy from the other shop workers. 

There was a small shower room that also contained a sink and a loo, through a door to the rear of the flat, but the rest of the space was open-plan, and very cramped for two. Her bed took up most of the room, and there was a tiny kitchenette to one side, and a sofa to the other with a crappy television that she entertained herself with. All her belongings were stored in a single wardrobe and chest of drawers. 

She was rather disconcerted by his lack of response. 

“This is it. Sorry if it disappoints you.”

“No one will try to kill me here,” he replied, quietly and seriously. “That makes this flat the only place on earth I want to be. Thank you, Orla, genuinely, for bringing me here. I’ll try my best not to be a complete arse to live with. Oh, and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“We can think about that later. It’s a tiny sofa and I’m sure with a bit of Transfiguration we can either make the bed bigger, or divide it in to two smaller ones. Right now, I’m just so exhausted from the night’s drama and everything else, all I want to do is crash out, knowing that no one is here to hurt me. Join me?”

His eyes widened in surprise. 

“I’m not asking you to jump into bed with me, Malfoy. Fucking hell, that’s the last thing I’d want after everything that’s happened. Nope, I’m asking you to jump on the bed with me,” she grinned. “Seriously. We need to sleep so that we can think clearly.”

Orla opened a drawer under the bed and pulled out a couple of soft blankets, that she’d used over the harsh winter to avoid spending money she didn’t have on heating the flat, and tossed one to Draco, before kicking off her trainers and pulling the blinds closed on the big window that looked out across the High Street. Throwing herself on the nearest side of the double bed, she lay down and covered herself from chin to foot in the blanket, and told him that if he didn’t do the same, she’d banish him to the sofa forever. 

That made him move, and he followed her movements, toeing off the transfigured trainers and making the bedsprings creak as he lay down next to her, pulling the blanket over himself. 

“We slept together last night, too, remember? In the infirmary,” she teased. “We’re just a little closer this time.”

His eyes were already closed, and his pale eyelids looked so thin and fragile, littered with blue thread veins across the surface. 

Orla suspected that he was already half way to the best sleep he’d had in months, and she closed her own eyes, feeling curiously safer in the flat with Draco Malfoy than she’d ever felt on her own. 

-xxx-

Remus was seated with a goblet of red wine on one of Fleur Weasley’s sofas; sated and full after the excellent French meal she had just cooked him. The lamb in the casserole had been deliciously rare, and when he’d complimented it, she had pointed out that after Bill’s werewolf bite had left him with a liking for rare meat, as a Frenchwoman, she’d been happy to indulge him, saying that the British always overcook their meat. 

She’d poked her head through the Floo early that morning, before leaving for work at Gringotts, and invited him for dinner, saying that she wanted to cook something properly but the thought of putting all that effort in for one person depressed her. He’d accepted immediately, knowing that he could travel to the secret-kept Shell Cottage by Floo quite safely without leaving himself exposed.

Remus had Floo-called the Hogwarts kitchens to advise them he would not need a meal tonight, but the earnest little elf who usually brought his food seemed to misunderstand and brought two servings of dinner rather than one. At lunchtime. Ah well, extra food was always welcome, he seemed to be permanently hungry these days, which was strange, after so many years making do on the meagre provisions that were all he could afford, a regular delivery of food was making him hungrier. 

Fleur had sat next to him with her own wine, pronouncing that in France it was no problem for women to have the odd goblet of red wine whilst pregnant. He didn’t know enough about pregnancy to contradict her, only knowing that Tonks had stayed well away from alcohol whilst she was expecting Teddy. But it her was Fleur’s pregnancy, and her business. 

He felt warm and comfortable in the little sitting room of the cottage, the excellent wine coursing through his veins and making his head feel pleasantly fugged. Her blonde hair was sparkling in the light of the fire, returned from the dark brown that she changed it to each morning, to conceal her distinctive part-Veela looks from any unsavoury witches or wizards that might have cause to visit Gringotts, or Diagon Alley. 

They sat in companionable silence, the two Order of the Phoenix members who, by a most hideous coincidence, had both been widowed on the same day. 

Lupin’s brain unfugged with lightning speed at the sound of a hard thump on the cottage door that made them both startle, and leap up from their relaxed seats on the sofa. 

“Are you expecting anyone?” he demanded, a little more forcefully than he’d intended. 

“Of course not! ‘Oo would be visiting me, and at zis time in ze evening?”

They both drew their wands and moved cautiously towards the front door. Remus indicated that Fleur should speak, since this was her home, and he would be unexpected. 

“’Oo is eet?” she called out, sharply. 

“It’s me, Charlie! Open the door!”

They both stared at each other, excited that this could really be the last remaining Weasley here on the doorstep, but they had to exercise extreme caution. Fleur opened the door, and Lupin stood his ground, brandishing his cypress wand in Charlie’s face.   
He looked exactly as they had seen him at the wedding last year, only with longer hair. Charlie was tall and broad, with rough, burnished skin and a multitude of dark freckles that could only be earned by working outside all day. He wore a dark-green shirt, and baggy khaki trousers, tucked into heavy boots, and his curly ginger hair was tied in a scruffy knot at the back of his head. His hands were ruddy and coarse, with scars, bites and scratches all over, which one would expect from a person who worked with dragons. 

“Identify yourself,” Remus demanded, sternly, and received a look of consternation in return. 

The man they believed and hoped was Charlie raised one hand in surrender, the other one holding a rather squirmy bundle under his arm in a sack made from thick, grey material.

“I am Charles Weasley, son of the late Molly and Arthur Weasley. I received letters informing of the deaths of my parents and all my siblings. I work at a dragon reservation in the hills of Romania, and have done since leaving Hogwarts, where I was a cohort of your wife, Lupin, the lovely Nymphadora Tonks, although if she’s around to hear that, please don’t hit me, Dora. On the day of your wedding, Fleur, my mother cut my hair so brutally short that I had to use a growing spell on it when I returned to Romania as the baby dragons didn’t recognise me. On that day, I distinctly remember hearing you refer to my Great Aunt Muriel as a ‘crabby old bitch’. Should I continue?”

“Oh, Charrrlie!”

Fleur’s eyes were full of tears as she leapt forward into Charlie’s arms, which was actually only a single arm since the mysterious wriggling bag appeared to be making a bid for freedom, but he embraced her one-armed, nonetheless, and held her as she sobbed on her own doorstep. 

Charlie gently released her and held out his free arm to Lupin, who took his hand and shook it warmly, placing his other hand over their joined ones. 

“Charles Weasley. You are here, my friend.”

“I am indeed. Any chance of being invited in, now that I’ve passed the test?”

“But of course!” Fleur exclaimed, stepping back and gesturing into her small living room. “Sit, sit, Charrlie, would you like tea?”

“Seems like you two have already cracked open the wine, so I’ll have some of that if there’s any going?”

She summoned another goblet from the kitchen cupboard and set the bottle to pour a healthy measure for their visitor, who took a great gulp as if he had not drunk for days. 

“Oh, Charrlie,” she began. “Before you zey any more, you should know that poor Tonks, she … she did not make eet.”

“What? Remus?”

His head swivelled in the other direction. 

“It’s true, Charlie,” Lupin confirmed. “Tonks was killed at the battle of Hogwarts, during a duel with the Death Eater Dolohov. He bested her.”

It was the first time he’d had to say the awful news out loud to someone who didn’t already know, and it was a horrible feeling. He coughed to clear the lump in his throat. 

“No! But Dora was an amazing duellist?”

“She’d not long had the baby. Her reflexes were slower, maybe. Who knows? Possibly, he could have just got the right shot in at the right time.”

“I’m so sorry, mate. Really. With a new baby and all. And you, Fleur, you know – Bill …”

“Charlie, it ees you zat is most deserving of pity. Your ‘ole family … we are so sorry … zey were all so brave.”

The room was silent, all of them thinking about the loved ones they had lost. There was no need to argue who’d suffered the greatest loss, for they all had. 

“I’ve done my crying back home,” Charlie said, quietly. “Maybe at some point, we can talk, and you can tell me how each of them died? But not right now, not yet.”

“Of course, we will,” Remus said. “Whatever you need to know we will tell you. I think for now the only news that is most pressing is yours, Fleur? For this is not my news to tell.”

She nodded and turned to Charlie, who was sitting next to her, with Remus on the opposite sofa, the coffee table in between them. 

“I am ‘aving Bill’s bebe, Charlie. We found out just before ze battle.”

Charlie’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in shock, before, most surprisingly, tears began to fall from his eyes and his face scrunched up with the effort of holding them in. He put his bag down on the floor by his feet and reached for his sister-in-law’s hands, grasping on to them as the tears finally fell. 

“A little piece of Bill,” he sobbed. “I’m not the last Weasley at all. There will be one more alongside me. Fleur, I promise I will be the best uncle I can to your baby, to my niece or nephew – I promise.”

“I know you will,” she replied, and was about to lean forwards and hug him, when she screamed instead, as what looked like a scaly, hairless cat escaped from the bag and darted across the floor of the cottage. 

“Oops, come back, Garth!”

Charlie jumped up and headed the creature off before it could reach the kitchen, which was clearly its ultimate destination.

“Mind if I feed him your leftovers? He can smell the meat, you see?”

Fleur indicated with a wave of her hand that he should go ahead, and looked at Remus in a quizzical manner, as Charlie returned to the sofa which what they could now see was a tiny dark-green dragon, about the size of a large cat, and Fleur’s cooking cauldron of casserole, into which it was dipping its small snout, lapping up the leftover meat, vegetables and gravy. 

“Charlie,” Remus began. “You appear to have brought a dragon with you. Might I be the first to point out the impracticality of this?”

Charlie grinned, not at all abashed. 

“Don’t worry. It won’t grow any bigger than this. This is a miniature Romanian Longhorn, goes by the name of Garth. He’s perfectly tame, was part of an intensive breeding programme at the sanctuary, as Longhorn numbers took a dive because there’s so much demand for its horns, among hunters who poach them. The horns of the Longhorn, when powdered, are highly prized as a potion ingredient, and is a Class B Tradeable Material.”

Both Fleur and Remus looked at the little dragon’s horns, which were glittering gold, and sticking straight out of its head like a bull, rather than on the top like most dragons. It didn’t look particularly menacing, especially as it was snuffling rather sweetly as it gulped down what was left of the casserole. 

“Garth, for some reason, didn’t grow like the other Longhorn’s in the breeding programme. He got to this size and just … stopped. He can’t be released into the wild, he’d be dead within a day, killed by other dragons, so we just … kept him at the sanctuary, where he roams around as he pleases.”

“But why,” asked Fleur, “did you not leave ‘im zere, at his ‘ome?”

Charlie looked rather guilty.

“I couldn’t. He’s attached to me. He follows me everywhere, snaffles my food, and even sleeps in my quarters. He’s my family out there.”

“You do realise you sound like Hagrid?” Remus told him, smirking in spite of himself. 

“Oh, I love Hagrid! He’ll love Garth! Oh … did the old boy survive the battle? I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

“It’s fine,” Lupin replied, “and yes, I believe he did. I saw him during the final moments. He was battered, but alive. He was carrying … oh. Look, don’t worry. Now is not the time. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when we’re all ready, including what our current plans are. But for now, you must need rest after your long journey. I have use of Grimmauld Place, there’s plenty of spare bedrooms there.”

Garth suddenly made the most curious sound, like a bird warbling, but in a deep, throaty rumble with a clicking sound in the background. They looked down. The tiny dragon had licked the cauldron clean and was now on Charlie’s other knee, extending its neck towards Fleur who was actually tickling it under the chin and making silly faces at it, as one might do to a small baby. 

“Is that dragon smiling, Charlie?”

“Of a fashion, Lupin,” 

The two wizards grinned at one another. It seemed that the question of where Charlie and Garth would stay was already settled. 

“What do you say, Fleur? Can Garth and I stay in the spare bedroom? He’s house-trained, I promise. Can’t say the same for me, Mum always said she never managed to domesticate me, hence why I’ve been living in the wilds of Romania for so many years.”

“You can both stay,” she answered, still crooning at the little dragon rather than addressing Charlie. “But you ‘ave to cook, Charrlie. I am so tired when I get ‘ome from ze bank every day.”

“Consider it done. I shall make Mum proud, I promise.”

Remus returned home to Grimmauld Place later that night with his heart lighter than it had felt for a long time. Somehow, the arrival of Charlie brought unquestionable proof that Voldemort had not fully destroyed the Weasleys on that dreadful day. He, and the baby growing in Fleur’s belly, meant that the family would live on, its ranks decimated, yes, but still alive. The presence of a small dragon that seemed to think it was a house cat was unexpected, but somehow no less welcome. It had brought a smile to Fleur’s face, in any case. 

He realised that he himself was smiling as he climbed into bed for the night, the thought of Garth with gravy round his little mouth being a welcome diversion from the horrors that usually besieged his dreams. 

-xxx-

Severus slammed his office door shut, warded it heavily and headed straight for his drinks cabinet, grabbing the decanter of firewhisky and pouring himself a large measure that he knocked back in one gulp, before slopping a second into the squat glass that he carried to his desk and sat down, intending to drink this one more leisurely. 

It had been one hell of a fucking awful day, and returning home from a private audience with the dread Lord himself was just the stalk on the fucking pumpkin. 

His post-coital glow from a night of sex had soon disappeared with the news that Madam Pomfrey had been discovered unconscious in her office in the hospital wing by Professor Sprout, who had attended there by chance after falling foul of a particularly vicious cutting of Devil’s Snare. Sprout had raised the alarm, and had Rennervated the Medi-Witch, suspecting correctly that she had been the victim of a Stupefy cast from behind. 

Pomfrey’s health aside, for she seemed to have no lasting ill-effects, the more pressing concern was the disappearance of Draco Malfoy and Orla Roach from the infirmary. 

Malfoy had been there since receiving his ‘punishment’ from Macnair and Yaxley, still recuperating with broken ribs, and Pomfrey’s records indicated that Miss Roach had been admitted during the night with whipping wounds to the back and severe anal trauma – both of which she had healed. 

Corban Yaxley was a psychotic fucking deviant to wreak that kind of damage upon a young witch, and could only think of Miss Granger and how she would have been exposed to that kind of abuse had he not stepped forward and requested her. As guilty as he felt about taking his sexual pleasure from her, the thought that she could have been subjected to far worse from someone who cared far less, helped to ease his self-hatred. 

What was unexplained, was the whereabouts of the two missing students now. Were they together? Macnair had seen the two of them holding hands and presumed there was something going on between them, but would either of them have the balls to pull something like this? Draco was an insufferable coward, and Miss Roach … well, Roach was a Hufflepuff. 

Neither were in the castle, it had been thoroughly combed both manually and magically, but the school wards were undisturbed, indicating that no one had entered or left for a good few days now. 

The Carrows had ensured that all the ‘secret’ passages to Hogsmeade had been sealed last year, and using one of them would have disturbed the wards, in any event. If they’d arranged to fly from one of the towers, it also would have created an alert as they breached the airborne wards that covered the school like an invisible protective dome. 

Malfoy and Roach had either managed to pull off the most breathtakingly audacious piece of magic, or there were darker components at play here. He shuddered to think that one, or even some, of the resident Death Eaters had got hold of the pair during the night and killed them, disposing of their bodies in the same way as they had rid the castle of the many fallen casualties of the battle. It would have been easy enough for them to Stupefy the Medi-Witch before attacking. Amycus Carrow and Walden Macnair, in particular, were incensed at the disappearance of the two students, suggesting that there could indeed have been an escape, and the missing pair had in fact not fallen foul of their many predators, since those predators were so very angry.

Without any concrete information, he had requested an audience with Voldemort, which had been granted that evening, and he had just returned home. It was rare that he voluntarily went before the Dark Lord, but the disappearance of a Death Eater, with a Muggle-born that was under the ‘ownership’ of another, was not something he could sweep behind a tapestry, as much as he would have liked to. 

“Is the Malfoy boy really such a great loss, Severus?” Voldemort had asked him, crossing his skinny legs as he sat elegantly in a huge black armchair, silky robes falling from his stark-white bare limbs, which were hairless and scaly, and looked so revolting that Snape wanted to vomit. 

A naked, resigned-looking witch was kneeling on the floor by his side, in a submissive position, and Riddle toyed with her hair as he spoke, not appearing particularly concerned about the disappearance of one of his followers, a disdain and lack of interest which might actually save the boy’s life if indeed he had managed to run away. 

“I suppose not, My Lord. Shall I advise Lucius? As Headmaster I am duty-bound to inform parents of any … issues regarding their children.”

“I shall do that, Severus. I will anticipate gleefully the defeated look in the eyes of Lucius and Narcissa as I tell them their precious boy is likely dead.”

He looked down at the naked witch, an unpleasantly lascivious look in his slit-like eyes. 

“Maybe I shall tell them tomorrow. If I remember. There is so much here to jostle for my attention, isn’t there, pet?” he drawled, leering at the naked witch, who ignored him assiduously. 

“As you wish, My Lord.”

“Return to Hogwarts, Severus. I would invite you to share in this Mudblood with me, but as you have been entreated your own, you have no need of mine.”

He flicked his pale hand dismissively, his thin robes sliding down and revealing his bony white wrist and long, hooked fingernails. Tom Riddle truly was repulsive. 

Severus sipped the firewhisky at his desk, dousing the fire and blocking off the Floo with a wave of his wand from where he sat. What Voldemort hadn’t thought of, was that Draco was traceable via the Dark Mark that he bore. It was how the Death Eaters had found Igor Karkaroff – the Durmstrang headmaster and former Azkaban resident was dead less than a year after attempting to flee from Voldemort. 

Severus was not going to remind the insane bastard of this. 

If the two students had managed to get away from the castle, if they were together, he would buy them the longest amount of time he could for them to hide themselves, and for Malfoy to find a solution for traceable conduit of the Dark Mark, even if it meant cutting his own arm off. 

Snape would protect them for as long as he could. He owed it to them both.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will not be forever, he thought, firmly. This farce will be the new wizarding world over my dead body.

The Headmaster’s mood was not improved the following morning, when he received notice via owl at the breakfast table that Dolores Umbridge would be undertaking her first public speech as Minister for Magic at two o’clock that afternoon. This would take place in the Ministry atrium, reporters and photographers would be there, and it was ‘strongly suggested’ that anyone in a position of high authority immediately make themselves available to attend. 

Snape proceeded to ruffle feathers, not of the delivery owls, but of the Death Eaters, when he insisted the four Heads of House were to accompany him due to their elevated teaching positions with the school. The Carrows began to protest, loudly, followed by some of the others, but Severus smoothly diverted mutiny by suggesting that only Death Eaters would be capable of maintaining order within the castle in his absence, and to remove every one of them from Hogwarts at the same time was asking for trouble.  
There would be plenty of their loyal comrades at the Ministry to hear Umbridge’s speech, he reassured, enjoying the barely concealed anger on their faces, so there was no need for them all to be there. 

The Death Eaters on staff appeared most disgruntled, and Snape took a perverse delight in knowing that there was nothing they could do to change his mind. Sometimes, just sometimes, being the Headmaster had its advantages. 

He arranged to meet Minerva, Pomona, Filius and Horace in the Great Hall straight after lunch had finished, and they would Floo into the Ministry commuting fireplaces. Sprout, Flitwick and Slughorn seemed less than enthused than McGonagall at the thought of an outing with the Headmaster, since all three were still unaware of his true loyalties. 

It would be good to have their support, however unwilling. Mindful of his public role as a loyal and high-ranking servant of the Dark Lord, Snape would have no choice but to choke down every foolish policy and racist ideology that was certain to spill forth from the mouth of the toad-face witch who had rent such destruction within the castle walls just a few years previously, even presuming to lean upon the then-Minister, Cornelius Fudge, to appoint her as Headmistress and force Dumbledore into hiding. 

-xxx-

One look at the gathered crowd when they arrived in the Ministry atrium that afternoon told Severus that his presumptions and concerns were entirely justified. There was a huge presence of Death Eaters and other, un-Marked followers and supporters of the Dark Lord, who were placed deliberately and menacingly around the huge area, looking ready to quell any signs of dissidence or protest. It would be a suicidal or stupid witch or wizard who would dare to question the new Minister today, with all these supporters and followers of the Dark just itching and spoiling for a fight. 

Snape wondered briefly whether the Voldemort himself would deign to be present, but even if he was here, he was unlikely to reveal himself in the public arena and was no doubt watching from wherever he had concealed himself and the snake. Alternatively, he could just be at home, slaking his lust with his captive whores and revelling in his perceived victories.

A smattering of applause ran around the atrium as Umbridge appeared from behind a set of pink curtains that magically lifted as she stepped through, her little heels click-clacking on the tiled floor, and took to the speakers’ podium, which had been raised to ludicrous heights to lift the squat witch above the level of the crowd below. Wearing long robes of the darkest pink, with a matching hat, she looked rather like an overcooked blancmange. 

She was flanked by Selwyn, Travers and the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement stood behind her like a dictators’ guard, led by Yaxley, but thankfully Snape could see Kingsley Shacklebolt among them, his robes much more muted than he would usually wear in his attempt to blend into the background so he could observe and gather crucial information, and Severus was relieved to see that Shacklebolt had been accepted back into his old job. He wondered if he’d had any problem or opposition doing so, and resolved to ask him at the next Order meeting. There were also other Aurors who were definitely not Death Eaters or supporters, all looking equally uncomfortable at being counted thus. Hopefully, once they had a more detailed plan, these Aurors on the side of the Light could be enlisted as allies for the resistance. 

This will not be forever, he thought, firmly. This farce will be the new wizarding world over my dead body. 

The group of professors were standing at the front of the crowd, to enable Filius Flitwick to see clearly without having to suffer the indignity of standing on a conjured box. Umbridge’s gimlet eye swept over the assembled witches and wizards, and he was not imagining that they narrowed as they met with Minerva’s, who loathed Umbridge with unbridled and undisguised hatred.

“My dear subjects,” Umbridge simpered, with that stupid little giggle that made him want to hex her head right off. “It gives me huge pleasure to be standing here before you today, ready to serve you loyally as your next Minister for Magic.”

She paused, expectantly, and after an awkward few seconds, some unenthusiastic clapping could be heard. Severus was reminded of her unwelcome speech on her first night at Hogwarts, that had made everyone, himself include, cringe to the soles of their boots. 

“I have been elevated to this grand and historical position by the great Lord Voldemort, who has communicated to me his ideals, his passions and his plans for this brave new world of ours. He has also given me the very great liberty of implementing any other policies that I feel would be of benefit, since our ideologies are so similar.”

Oh shit, Severus thought, as she giggled again, girlishly, and he watched Minerva wince as if she had a stomach cramp. Umbridge given free rein to change Ministry policy to suit her own warped agenda had not been something he’d been expecting. Short in stature and mean of spirit, although magically powerful, Dolores Umbridge was a not a witch that any sane person would want in charge of the country’s laws and affairs. 

“I assure you that I will be returning magic to the hands of its rightful owners through our Muggle-born Registration Committee, and those caught using magic without proven magical heritage will be punished most severely. A trial programme is in place at Hogwarts School, to evaluate whether Muggle-borns who admit their theft of magic can be … retrained in order to be of use and service to the Dark Lord.”

Yaxley face was like a thundercloud as she said this. No doubt he had been told of the flight of his personal Mudblood, who had been clever enough to escape his abuse. Severus knew exactly the kind of retraining she meant – Muggle-borns would be forced to be little more than servants and concubines to those in high office. All that talent, knowledge and skill would go to waste, for imagine a witch as exceptional as Miss Granger in a life as nothing more than a slave! He felt his blood begin to boil beneath the restrictive collar of his coat and cravat. What he wouldn’t give to just Avada the lot of them, right now. But he must wait. 

They would get one chance to bring this puppet government down, and the ramshackle new Order needed so much more information and resources that it hurt to think about how very far away they were. Their plan was the barest of ideas. 

“Whilst the mixing of Muggle and magical blood is an abhorrence, this pales into insignificance when it comes to the mixing of magical blood with that of … sub-humans,” she spat, her florid face turning even redder with anger. “I am talking, of course, of half-breeds! Those disgusting creatures who are the result of the heinous actions of their wizarding mother or father copulating with a magical beast.”

Severus’ large nose was finely-tuned to sniff out impending trouble, and he could sense a huge pile of shit about to descend upon the room. 

“Half-giants! Half-goblins! Centaurs! Werewolves! And all those like them! Who are they to inflict their sub-human states upon the decent wizarding world? Henceforth each of them shall return to the herd of animals to whom they belong, or face the strictest punishments.”

The chattering among the crowd became louder, but nobody actually protested, for who would dare to? Death Eaters and Aurors alike were already ready for action with wands drawn and their keen eyes darting everywhere, just waiting for the opportunity to pounce. 

Umbridge stepped down from the podium and walked nearer to the front row the crowd, still atop the wide, raised platform, a sickly smile upon her face. As she approached, Severus could see a thin sheen of sweat across her forehead, clearly even someone as foul as this witch could suffer from nerves, not that she showed it.

“Let me demonstrate the exact reaches of my new policy. Imperio!”

She had drawn her stubby wand and fired it towards Severus before he even knew what she had planned. Although … it didn’t hit him. It hit Professor Flitwick.

“Come here, half-breed. Up on to the stage.”

Minerva and Pomona shouted loudly in protest.

“I suggest, Professors, that you restrain your opinions, lest you wish to find yourselves arrested for refusing to comply with the laws of wizarding Great Britain?”

Filius approached the platform, unwilling, forced by the Imperio that Umbridge cast upon him, and was humiliatingly lifted on to it by two Aurors. 

“Now. You are most certainly half-goblin, Professor. And goblins should not be teaching our children, should they? Goblins should be in Gringotts, where they belong, and where they can be contained. I order you to go there now, and present yourself for suitable employment, and from that point it will be their decision what to do with you. Now go! And you are never to return to Hogwarts, you filthy half-breed!”

Under the effect of the Imperius Curse, Filius had no choice but to be escorted by the two Aurors out of the Ministry atrium, where they would presumably ensure he entered Gringotts. 

What the actual fuck had just happened? 

“I apologise, Headmaster Snape, for the loss of one of your staff,” she continued, turning to him and suddenly all eyes were swivelled in his direction. “However, it is no longer acceptable for sub-humans to be around our children, let alone instructing their innocent minds. I also request that you dismiss the horse from teaching Divination, return him to his herd, and then banish the centaurs from the Forbidden Forest. Should they refuse to leave, they will be arrested and punished accordingly. The forest is part of the school grounds, and is therefore Ministry property – the centaurs are now trespassing. In addition, the foul half-giant that serves as gamekeeper must also be banished to find the rest of the giants, and he must now live alongside them … if he wishes to live, at all.”

The cavernous, echoing atrium was silent. Not a cough, not a whisper could be heard. Everyone here had been through Hogwarts at some point in the past. Everyone knew Hagrid. The thought that he would be able to survive amongst real, full-size giants was preposterous. He was a human wizard, albeit a very large one. 

Fenrir Greyback sauntered forwards, cocksure of his position as one of the Dark Lord’s most bloodthirsty and savage followers, despite not bearing the Mark. 

“Pardon me, Madam Minister, but you also mentioned werewolves,” he smiled, showing his pointed teeth. “I presume this doesn’t mean all werewolves?”

“I said all part-humans. Can you show me a human who changes into a wolf every month? How ridiculous. I’m sorry, but your transformations mean that you are an animal and you shall be treated as such. There are no exceptions. Incarcerous!”

Magical ropes flew out from the end of her wand and bound Greyback from head-to-foot, causing him to fall heavily on the floor, shouting and swearing. 

“Lord Voldemort shares my opinion that only the purest of wizards should serve him. He certainly did not specify animals. Since werewolves are a danger to our world and to our magical children, they will be eradicated. Starting with yourself. Take him away, please!”

She indicated to some of the burliest-looking Aurors, who stepped forward and dragged Greyback to his feet. 

“Where to, Minister?” 

Umbridge paused, looking over at the struggling werewolf with a face like thunder, not scared, but furious, ropes bound tightly across his hairy chest, his shouts obviously silenced by one of the Aurors. A reasonable person might have expected Umbridge to show mercy, but instead a slow smile spread across her face as she addressed the Aurors, ignoring Greyback completely. 

“You have your orders as to what we now do with those who are … surplus to our society.”

They paused, before nodding gravely, and dragging Greyback from the atrium. He was so strong it took four of the largest Aurors to remove him. His association with the Dark Lord had not saved him. 

Severus’ mind spun, and sneaking a look at Minerva and discreetly pressing against her mind, with her tacit permission for she allowed it, he could see they had the same thoughts. Lupin – he was safely hidden, but for how long? What could they do about Filius – should they go to Gringotts and see how he had been received by the goblins? They must get back to the school to warn Hagrid and Firenze of the developments, how soon could they all leave the cloying, propaganda-infused atmosphere of the Ministry atrium? And then Minerva had a thought that had not occurred to him, Fleur Weasley was part-Veela, this must mean she was also at risk. 

With one public speech, Umbridge had shown the way she meant to proceed – with no mercy. 

Fuck. 

-xxx-

When they returned to the school, Slughorn slunk away quickly, muttering something about having a lie down. Most likely he was going to retire to his chambers to get drunk on something with such a high alcohol content that it would render him oblivious in the shortest amount of time. The man had no stamina, but then again, he was rather an old wizard now, and not in the best of health. 

Severus led the two witches to his office, deciding that the time was right to take Pomona Sprout into their confidence. He trusted her. With Minerva’s help, they pieced together what she needed to know, her huge eyes growing even wider as they astounded her with truth after truth. Sprout had been particularly concerned for Miss Roach, who as one of her own Hufflepuffs, should have been able to count on her Head of House for pastoral care. They swore the curly-haired witch to secrecy, and her patched, soil-encrusted hessian hat had bobbed as she’d eagerly nodded her agreement. 

They agreed that the only solution for Hagrid and Firenze was to secrete themselves deep in the Forbidden Forest, for both would know how to survive; food could be delivered by house-elves to an agreed location, and both were to be given a wand to conjure shelter. Minerva left immediately to visit Firenze in his forest classroom on the ground floor, just off the entrance hall, and Pomona volunteered to trek down to Hagrid’s hut to break the unhappy news.

They all hoped that it wouldn’t be forever.

Umbridge had ordered that all centaurs were to be eradicated from the Forbidden Forest, but short of sending a team of Aurors into the vast, magical forest, where the wily centaurs would easily be able to conceal themselves, and most likely kill every one of the search party, Severus did not think that she would be able to enforce the demand. Hagrid and Firenze would hopefully be safe in there for as long as the world was in this subjugated state. 

He sent an owl to Lupin to ask him to call another meeting of the Order as soon as possible, to discuss developments. He did not expand further, but warned him it was now imperative that he remain secreted inside Grimmauld Place at all times. If Lupin were to put one toe outside the wards of the Fidelius charm then he would be captured and meet the same fate as Greyback. 

Summoning a large folder that contained the details of witches and wizards who had previously applied for teaching positions at Hogwarts, he sorted through those who were qualified to teach Charms. Sighing deeply, he hoped it would only be a temporary appointment. Poor Filius. What on earth would have happened to him at Gringotts? Goblins were horrible, miserable little bastards that hated wizards, so Merlin knows what they would make of the half-goblin, half-wizard Professor Flitwick. 

The world had gone mad under the tyranny of Voldemort’s rule, and the enormity of the task before him seemed insurmountable. He could only complete each task as it presented itself. 

After he had penned a standard letter to possible candidates advising of the Charms vacancy, magically duplicating them and sending them off with a batch of school owls to their intended recipients, the bell for dinner rang and he rose to his feet, for he could not escape the Great Hall after such a day of new information. The Death Eaters who had been obliged to remain in the castle would be salivating to find out what Umbridge had said in her speech, and he wondered if any of them would feel sorry for Fenrir Greyback. He doubted it. 

As Severus left the office, he felt a strong pulse in his groin, taking his breath away with such force that he had to grasp the wall of the stairwell that was taking him down. His head was immediately cleared of all thoughts of Umbridge, and the Ministry and part-humans – to be replaced very firmly with Miss Granger. His cock twitched, advising him that the respite that their night-of-four-times had satisfied the compulsion for long enough, and it was now time to address it again. 

It did not bode well for a successful evening meal, having to fend off questions from Death Eaters, hold his cover with the staff, keep control of the school and eat his own dinner, when all the while his dick would be bumping the underside of the table, desperate for the compulsion to be satisfied. 

He would keep his eye from wandering to the Gryffindor table. He would. 

-xxx-

Hermione was one of the last few students in the common room that evening. There was no point in going to bed yet, for she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. The disappearance of Orla, the only person in the same position as her, had given her great consternation, and she was terrified that Yaxley had actually killed Orla and that it was being kept secret. 

It was odd that she’d heard Draco Malfoy was also missing, and there was a rumour that he and Orla had run away together. Hermione thought this was most unlikely, but then she couldn’t explain where Malfoy might have gone, either. They’d both apparently been in the hospital wing together, so she supposed it wasn’t outside the realms of possibility. 

They’d been told at dinner that Flitwick, Hagrid and Firenze would all be leaving the school, due to the new regulations and controls upon magical creatures that had been effected by the new Minister. Where would they go? Neither Flitwick nor Hagrid were at dinner; had they already been ousted? Hermione’s mind spun with possibilities and it was making her head ache. 

When the last Gryffindors had gone up to their dormitories, she popped up to her own where Parvati was already fast asleep, and put on pyjamas and her dressing gown, but then came back down to the common room and built up the fire, thinking she might get a few hours of sleep if she eventually drifted off on the sofa. There was no rule that students had to be in their dormitories, they simply had to be in their common rooms before curfew. A single student, not causing any trouble, would not attract any attention. 

She curled up on the huge, battered old red sofa before the fire, dimmed the lights a little, and tried to engross herself in a Transfiguration textbook. She still had so much to catch up on. It helped that in her sixth year she’d already been so far ahead that she’d worked halfway through the seventh-year textbook, otherwise she’d be in real trouble now. Her eyes refused to focus, however, and she kept finding herself drawn to the memory of Snape’s face as he’d addressed the Great Hall earlier, advising them of the changes in the law, to which it was obvious that he did not agree with, but had been forced to impart the information as if he did, to the unspoken censure of everyone present. 

His black eyes had been empty – expressionless. As if he’d put on an impenetrable mask. She suddenly longed to see them filled with the dark fire of lust that she’d seen in them, recently. A pulse between her legs confirmed the longing. 

Her mind strayed to the times they had been intimate, with no embarrassment that she had been sleeping with the Headmaster, since her compulsion was now forcing her thoughts in that direction. Hermione opened her legs a little to relieve the swelling that was now building up in her genitals, feeling a trickle of fluid on the top of her thigh. She wanted to lower her hand and scratch away the itch, but knew from experience that this would lead to greater pain. 

She needed his hands on her. Those large, safe hands with their long, skilful fingers that teased the most exquisite reactions from her body. Her stomach lurched as she imagined him laying atop her, his narrow hips coiling against her thighs as he pushed his penis inside her, filling her in ways that she’d never thought possible. She wanted to grasp his arse as he did so, forcing him harder and faster. 

Oh shit. 

Hermione picked up her textbook and forced herself to read from it, desperate to divert her thoughts, to hold the compulsion for as long as she could, for surely Professor Snape had had an awful day, with the Ministry visits and other stresses. If she managed to fall asleep she could make it until tomorrow before needing to disturb him. 

What a joke. 

Her pussy began to throb as if it was trying to expel her insides. It was painful, and she leapt from the sofa, walking around to see if that would ease the discomfort. 

No such luck.

The pulsing was becoming more of an urgent pain, compelling her to seek the relief that the dark magic required, and to seek it as quickly as possible. So, this is what would happen if the compulsion was ignored. She remembered the first night that she’d volunteered to ‘assist’ Snape, in his office, and how much physical pain he had been in. 

What could she do? The pain was wracking her body, but there was no way she could make it through the corridors to the Headmasters’ office, and not without setting off a thousand alarms and traps that had no doubt been set by the Death Eaters to stop students wandering about during the night, and removing the necessity for them to undertake night patrols. 

Looking around, she cast silencing charms and visual blocks on both doorways that led to the male and female dormitories. For good measure, she also sealed the portrait hole. Holding her cramping stomach, she crawled across the hearth rug and Floo called the Headmaster’s office, as quietly as she could. Hermione heard his deep voice answer her almost immediately, and as he opened the connection, she stuck her head into the flames. 

“Professor, please,” she managed to gasp out. 

“What is the matter, Miss Granger? Are you compelled?”

“Yes. Badly. Please, I need you.”

“I am coming through. Move back.”

She crawled backwards and sat on the floor, her aching spine leaning against the front of the sofa. The flames glowed green and he stepped through, over the grate and into the common room. Hermione was so relieved to see him that she could not stop the tears being squeezed from the corner of her eyes. He must have been preparing for bed, since he was barefoot and wearing only his black trousers and a white shirt, rolled to the elbows and unfastened at the top. 

He put out his hand to her and pulled her to her feet, and she winced in pain. 

“How long have you been like this? Why have you not sought assistance before?”

“Not long, honestly. It came on really quickly, and just … took me over.”

He drew his wand and began to set the same wards on the doorways as she had, a confused expression on his face as his spells did not work. 

“You have already set the charms?”

“I have.”

“Impressive, as always. Now come, let us deal with the compulsion.”

“Here?”

He looked down at her, his black eyes filled with that burning desire that she had wished to see only a few moments previously. His mouth was a set line, as if he were trying to remain neutral, but his nostrils flared with the deep breaths he was taking. 

“Indeed, here.”

He sat down in the corner of the sofa, pulling her down to sit on his lap, facing away from him with her legs either side of his. 

“Lay back,” he instructed, and she did so, resting her head on his shoulder and enjoying the feel of his strong chest behind her, supporting her. 

She could have sworn he swore softly under his breath as he opened his own legs, spreading hers wide around them. Reaching under the loose cotton of her baggy pyjama shorts, his long fingers snaked straight into her pussy, rubbing the wet, spread labia to open them further and seek the sensitive, desperate parts within. 

“Ohhh, god …” she moaned, tipping her hips against his fondling fingers. 

“That’s right, sweet girl,” he murmured, turning his face so that his lips brushed her cheek with every word. “Enjoy your relief. I will provide whatever you need.”

He sunk two fingers inside her, making her cry out for another, and so he added a third, twisting them hard and deep as he thumbed her clitoris, his other hand on her stomach, which had the duel benefit of warming her cramps, and holding her in place. She writhed under his touch, and felt the unmistakeable hardness of his erection beneath her. 

“Are you compelled, too?” she asked, helplessly grinding against it. 

“If I wasn’t, I certainly am now,” he muttered, not ceasing his masturbation of her wet pussy although he was now returning her grinding by pushing back against her arse. 

“I’m sorry, Professor.”

“Don’t be. I started to feel the compulsion earlier. No doubt it would not have been long before I had need to call upon you.”

“We can just, you know, do it, if you want? Get both of us, um, sorted in one?”

“Granger, I have started a task and I intend to finish it. Now, will you be quiet?”

She could feel him smirking against her cheek, and couldn’t help grinning in spite of herself. His curling fingers were touching every part of her, and he’d just added his other hand to the mix, slipping it down the top of her shorts and taking hold of her hard clit and agitating it relentlessly. He had every single one of his digits hard at work, their only job to bring her to orgasm. She was rolling her hips in his lap, so over-aroused that it wasn’t going to take much longer before she reached her limit. 

“Yes,” she panted, “just like that. Keep doing that.”

Her hips now had a mind of their own, fucking his fingers that he was forcing inside her, every bounce hitting his now rock-solid erection. He was twisting her clitoris frantically, determined to extract her climax from the hard, desperate bud. 

“Come,” he growled, quietly against her cheek. “Come, so I can fuck you, little witch.”

She could feel the rumble of his low, sensual voice through her spine, infused with an urgency that only increased her arousal. His fingers must have been a blur on her clit as his frantic masturbation finally tipped her over the edge, and her cunt pulsed around his invading fingers as she came, long and hard. 

“Oh, fuck, yes,” he muttered. “There’s a good girl. You like this. You do like this.”

He continued to praise her as she rode out the spasms of her climax, slowing his movements in time with hers. Once he had removed his fingers, he lifted her and almost threw her on the sofa alongside them, standing up and pulling her insubstantial shorts from her body at the same time. 

Taking a quick look around him, he began to unfasten his trousers as she looked up at him, his tall frame illuminated from behind by the huge fire in the otherwise dark Gryffindor common room. She wasn’t sure whether it was inappropriate to find him sexy, but the compulsion was certainly forcing that thought upon her. Staring straight into her eyes, he dropped his trousers.

He was wearing no undershorts, and his penis stood straight, fully erect and proud before her. Why had she never realised how big it was before? She supposed she’d never seen it from this angle. Snape saw her looking, and smirked. 

“Like what you see, Granger?”

“If I said yes, would that be inappropriate?”

His eyes flashed, and he was upon her in a second, jostling her legs open and wriggling his hips into a secure position between her thighs. Snape pushed his swollen penis swiftly inside her, in one quick, smooth movement that made her gasp with the speed of it. Hermione felt a delicious sensation of fullness, the head touching her so very deep inside.

“I believe,” he replied, “that this is far more inappropriate.”

A flurry of quick little thrusts punctuated his answer. 

“There’s not a lot we can do about it though, is there, Sir?” she said, moving her hips against his to meet him at every thrust, enjoying the soft moans he was emitting. 

“There is not. I suggest we just … unhh … just enjoy it.

She didn’t reply. He was enjoying having sex with her. Whether it was magically compelled or not, he was still enjoying it. Her own compulsion assuaged, why shouldn’t she enjoy it, too? She looked up at the high ceiling of the familiar common room, the huge tapestries on the red walls, around at the enormous stone fireplace, and finally at her dark professor, his long hair bouncing on his shoulders as he laboured above her. He was a dichotomy of danger and safety all wrapped up in one surprisingly alluring, unconventional package. 

Hermione slipped a hand under the tumbling black strands and cupped his cheek softly, earning herself a look of amazement in return, and he stared her straight in the eyes. Clenching his teeth, he began to piston harder inside her, rolling and thrusting towards the inevitable conclusion. 

She would certainly never look at this room again without remembering what (and who) she had done on the main common room sofa.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Muggle Studies, Draco. You’re going to need a crash course.”

For one fleeting moment, as Granger slipped her hand under his hair and cupped his cheek, Severus could have been fooled into thinking this was real. Her touch had been so full of tenderness, and she’d appeared to regard him in an approving light, her brown eyes searching his unlovely face as if seeking an answer. 

He had replied to her unspoken question by speeding his thrusts inside her, the lurch of the compulsion at her subtle gesture forcing his movements, stoking his ardour and urging him to chase the completion, the satisfaction that it was loudly demanding.  


Still, she had kept her eyes locked upon his, as if she was enjoying his attentions, enjoying his lovemaking as if it were solely thus, and not a forced, inappropriate copulation dictated by a dark curse that they were both held under. 

As he spilled himself inside her, his neck full of tension from holding himself prone above her, but the sweet release in his groin and stomach immeasurable at relieving himself of the curse symptoms. It felt so utterly wrong, as it always did, to be using this exceptional student in such a manner, to control a dark curse in such an exquisitely pleasurable way. 

He had taken Granger in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, for fuck’s sake. Minerva McGonagall would have several fits if she saw what the Headmaster of Hogwarts was doing at this moment, balls deep inside one of her seventh-years on the doubtlessly well-used sofa right in front of the main common room fireplace. Allowing his softened penis to slip out of her, Severus resisted the urge to drop his head and kiss her, instead sitting back on his knees and pushing himself to standing. He drew his wand and cast cleansing charms upon them both, and also on the conspicuous wet patch that glared at him accusingly from the red sofa.

Bending down, he picked up Granger’s little pyjama shorts and slipped them over her feet, pulling them up to her knees before taking her hands and guiding her to stand. He could have allowed her to complete the job herself, but no, Severus Snape was nothing if not skilled at the art of torturing himself, so he knelt before her, took hold of the shorts that she was holding at her knees, and began to slowly raise them up her thighs, over her mound and back into the correct place around her waist. It was at that moment that he discovered, free from the compulsion, that dressing her was almost as erotic as the undressing. 

He was eye-level with his favourite place in the world, and Merlin knows he wanted to lean forwards and part those soft pussy lips with his tongue and lick her to another orgasm where she stood, in the flickering light of the huge common room fire. Instead he simply stared, his black eyes fixated upon her sex as he denied himself, covering her delights with her nightclothes. He ran his hands inadvisably down the backs of each of her legs as he completed his task, feeling her shiver as his fingers stroked the sensitive skin in the soft curves behind her knees. 

At length, he stood, and remained before her on the violently-red hearth rug, unwilling to leave. 

“Are you still in any discomfort?” he asked, and she shook her head. 

“I’m fine. Thank you for helping me so quickly, I’m sure you must have a thousand things to do, Sir.”

A glint of mischief swelled inside him. 

“Not one of those things are half so pleasant as doing you, Granger.”

She smiled, appearing slightly embarrassed, and he belatedly thought what an inappropriate comment that had been from a teacher to a student. Then again, most teachers and students were not being compelled into regular sexual congress with one another. 

“It’s not exactly a chore to me, either,” she admitted, and her honesty boosted his ego, for he was after all, just a mere wizard with base desires just like any another. 

“Then I shall leave you for now. Please remember to remove the charms on the doorways before you retire to bed.”

Severus wanted to say more. He wanted to tell Granger how delicately beautiful she was, how proud he was of the way she was coping with the tragic loss of her friends and the situation they now found themselves in. He wanted to plant light kisses on her pink lips, kisses that bid her goodnight, that wished her pleasant dreams, that kept the memory of his lips on hers as she fell to sleep. 

But none of this was real. Their interactions were inappropriate enough without adding their personal feelings to the already toxic brew in the cauldron. He was not her lover. He was old enough to be her bloody father, for Merlin’s sake. She did not desire him beyond the reaches of her compulsion, just as he did not truly desire her. If he told himself that enough, it would surely become true. 

He gave her a single nod of farewell, pushing his hands into his trouser pockets lest he take hold of her, and turned towards the fire, stepping into the flames and returning to his office. As he resumed his position behind his desk, where he had been working before her Floo call came through his office fireplace, and took a sip from the glass of firewhisky that he’d poured earlier, he glanced at the clock to realise that the entire process from her call to now had been less than fifteen minutes. 

Fifteen of the most outstanding minutes of his life. 

-xxx-

Orla and Draco awoke hours later, when the sun was just beginning to set, the shops in the high street had closed for the evening, and the restaurants were doing a steady trade for dinner. They could hear everything through the unforgivingly thin glass of the large window at the front, the only window in the tiny studio flat, apart from the miniature one in the bathroom. Both were still wrapped in their blankets, a decent space between them on the bed. There would be plenty of room for them to sleep without embarrassment, she was sure. 

“Hungry?” she asked. 

“Starving.”

“Let’s go and get some dinner. I have some Muggle money stored here, it won’t last long, we’ll need to start working, but there’s enough to keep us going for a few days. We look normal enough, clothes-wise, but we’re going to need to get some more for you, unless you’re particularly skilled in Transfiguration?”

“I’m not the best, but we can give it a go,” he replied, pulling on the pair of her trainers that Madam Pomfrey had sized to fit him. “Either that or I’ll just wear women’s clothing, I suppose.”

She couldn’t help but smile. All her Muggle clothing was in the wardrobe here in the flat, so she had plenty to wear, but Draco would need everything, unless he was indeed intending to dress her in clothes for however long it was that they hid here. 

Orla took some money from the tin at the back of her underwear drawer, and they ventured down into the high street, choosing an innocuous and cheap-looking café to eat their dinner in. Sitting at the formica-topped table in the garishly-lit café, Draco was enthralled by the plastic menu, and needed help choosing exactly what to have. She couldn’t believe he’d never eaten a hamburger before, and he ordered a double with extra bacon, some fat chips and a plate of onion rings. 

“For research,” he smirked, before quizzing her on exactly what a milkshake was. 

As they gobbled down their food, realising how hungry they were, both agreed that the food would be the only thing they missed about school. Meals at Hogwarts were regular and plentiful, no one ever went hungry within the castle walls. 

“Take a few days to acclimatise, Malfoy,” she told him, “you can’t go from not knowing what a hamburger is, to working on a till in a shop the very next day.”

“What’s a till?”

She rolled her eyes at his ignorance. 

“Muggle Studies, Draco. You’re going to need a crash course.”

“Yes, Professor,” he quipped.

“Very funny. Here’s your first lesson, coming right up. Take the bill, here, and tell me how much it is.”

His blue eyes scanned the small docket that she passed him, and he wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar currency. 

“There’s some kind of rune, then the number nineteen, dot forty-nice and a ‘p’ on the end. How many Galleons is that?”

“I have no idea of the conversion rate, and that’s not a rune, that is a pound sign, and it’s the main form of currency, like a Galleon. After the dot is the pence.”

“Pence?”

“Sssh. Just listen for once. There is one hundred pence, or pennies, in a pound, so it’s quite easy to work out.”

“So, our bill is nineteen pounds and forty-nine pennies?”

“Correct. So, we’ll give her a twenty pound note and get change.”

Orla took a twenty from her back pocket and laid on the table. Draco snatched it up and began to examine it. 

“Paper money? No coins? 

“Paper money,” she confirmed. “Much easier than piles of Galleons that you need to carry around in a coin bag, or that need to be stored in vaults in Gringotts.”

“I am never going to get used to this,” he muttered, shaking his head and replacing the note on the table. 

“You can, and you will. It’s not that hard, I promise. This is just the beginning, and I won’t be babysitting you, poor little rich boy. If we’re going to do this, you’ll be working too.”

He ran a hand through his uncharacteristically messy white-blond hair, looking a little stressed and overwhelmed, nearly jumping out of the plastic seat when the waitress came to collect the money from their table. She had to be patient. She had signed up for this in full knowledge of his limitations in the Muggle world. This was exactly why he had sought her out. 

They took a stroll down the high street to avoid going straight back to the tiny studio that was now their home for an unspecified period. Draco enjoyed looking in the shop windows at the ‘curious items’ on sale, although Orla found it far less exciting than her first trip down Diagon Alley, with the array of magical items in every window. 

Turning down a side street that had an old pub on the corner, she bought two half-pints of beer after he expressed an interest, despite her warning that it was nothing like Butterbeer. Indeed, the look on his face after taking his first hearty swig was a sight to behold – his eyes opened wide and began to water, his cheeks reddened and puffed out as he held the bitter liquid in his mouth, not swallowing. 

“I always knew Butterbeer was a kids’ drink,” she teased. “This is real beer, Malfoy.”

Orla downed half of her own, delighting in the tart taste of the familiar ale. Raised in Ireland where everybody drank, alcoholic drinks presented no problem for her. Draco had been raised on Butterbeer and little else, unless he’d been partial to nicking from his father’s liquor cabinet. 

Deciding that half a pint was probably Draco’s limit, as well as being mindful that their funds were limited, too, she dragged him out after twenty minutes and they headed back towards the high street from the side road. Draco stopped outside a tattoo parlour, which was open late into the evening five nights a week. She saw his right hand move unbidden to his left forearm, where his Dark Mark was branded. 

He pointed to pictures in the window that advertised the parlour specialised in tattoo cover-ups, and there were some rather impressive photographic results of bad tattoos being covered with much nicer, more expansive ones. 

“What do you think?” he asked. “I need some way to cover and block the Dark Mark.”

“Wouldn’t that only cover it, though?”

“I suppose so. But if we were to add some magic, possibly?”

“I honestly don’t know. Do you want to go in?”

He nodded, and pushed open the door. A large, bearded man sat behind the reception desk, several piercings in each ear and an amazing set of tattoos down each of his arms. He looked up as they walked in. 

“I’m interested in one of your cover-up jobs,” Draco said, in a slightly haughty manner that she’d have to knock out of him, sharpish. 

“He’s got a tattoo he hates,” Orla cut in, much more politely. “On his arm.”

“Let’s have a look then,” the bearded man muttered, opening both hands as if to say; What are you waiting for?

Draco rolled up his left sleeve and revealed the Dark Mark, and the man took hold of his arm and ran his fingers over the surface. 

“Odd design,” he commented. “All in black, nothing too difficult here. I can cover that, no problem. Do you know what you want?”

“I’ve no idea,” replied Draco. “I just want to get this monstrosity covered as soon as I can.”

“There’s some books over there with sample designs that you can have a look at. Make an appointment and we can discuss it.”

“What price are we looking at?” asked Orla. 

“A large cover job like that, depending on what he chooses, about a hundred I suppose, maybe more.”

She winced. That was a lot of money. 

“We’ll get the money, Orla,” he hissed, in her ear. “We need to get this covered, or we’re traceable, and it won’t matter how much cash you’ve got left in that tin.”

“You don’t even know if it will work,” she hissed back. 

“I’ll make it work,” he replied, mindful that the man was now looking curiously at them. 

“I’ve got some time now, there’s about an hour before we close. Do you want me to sketch something out?” the man asked them. 

“We could? We’ve got no other plans. Draco?” Orla asked, looking across at him. 

“Draco, eh? That’s an unusual name.”

“I have unusual parents. It means dragon.”

“No wonder you want rid of the snake then, eh? And skulls are bit dated, nowadays. How about a dragon, in honour of your name, bright and full of colour, wrapping right around your arm, covering this mistake right up?”

Draco’s eyes brightened. 

“I like that idea. Do you have any examples?”

“Sit yourself down on the big chair, there, and I’ll bring the dragon folder over. You and your young lady can decide which one you like, and I’ll size and shape to fit around the area that we’re covering.”

The man gave them the loose-leaf folder, and then said he was going out the back to make a cup of tea before getting started. Orla and Draco sorted through the dragons, snickering at the crude attempts of Muggles to ascertain what a real dragon looked like. Some were good, though, coincidentally so, and they were soon choosing between what resembled a Chinese Fireball in vibrant shades of red, or a fairly typical Common Welsh Green. 

“I love the Fireball,” he said. “I have done ever since Krum took one on during the Tri-Wizard. But I’m leaning towards the Green, I’m still a Slytherin at heart and I’m not sure if I want to walk around with that much red on my arm, if I have the choice.”

When the man returned with tea for all of them, they showed him the Welsh Green and he pronounced it a ‘cracking choice’. He took a pen from the table of instruments and began to sketch a basic outline on Draco’s arm, and Orla watched it form, the lines of the dragon reaching far beyond that of the Dark Mark.

“That’s about where it will go,” he advised, once he had finished his intricate sketch on Draco’s skin. “What do you think?”

“I love it,” Malfoy told him. 

“Want me to make a start? I can put in an hour, then you can come back tomorrow, there are appointments available. I’ll need a deposit, though.”

Orla thought quickly. Draco needed this done, he was quite right. If they were indeed traceable through his Dark Mark, then they needed to do everything they could to prevent that. A small voice niggled that they could spend a hundred pounds and it wouldn’t make any difference to the magic imbued in the Mark, but they had to at least try. 

“You make a start,” she confirmed. “I’ll nip back to the flat and get the money for a deposit. Thirty ok?”

“That’s fine, young lady.”

He turned away from her and began to prepare his ink and instruments. Orla looked back as she left the tattoo parlour, and distinctly saw Draco draw his wand when the man’s back was turned, casting something over the bottle of black ink. She’d have to ask him about that, later. She nipped out of the door and back the way they had come, heading to the flat to make her second withdrawal of the day from her little cash tin. 

She made haste, for she was worried about leaving Draco in the sole company of a Muggle for any length of time, especially as he’d already seen fit to draw his wand. 

When she returned, Draco was palm upwards in the chair, pain etched upon his face, as the tattooist inked the first part of the outline into his skin. As she approached, she was horrified to see that the serpent that coiled its way around the skull was moving, almost as if it were breathing. 

“Oi, mate, what the hell’s this? This bloody tattoo is moving!”

The man looked terrified, despite his age, stature, and menacing appearance. Orla watched Draco put his right hand on his wand again. 

“Obliviate,” he hissed, causing the tattooist to shake his head as if to clear it, then continue inking as if nothing had happened. 

“How many times have you done that?” she muttered. 

“Far more than I planned to,” he replied, as the man looked up and smiled at him. 

“Alright, mate? Pain not too much for you?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Draco replied, forcing himself to return the smile despite appearing in considerable pain. “I’ll tell you everything later,” he whispered to her. 

Orla watched, fascinated, as the skilful artistry of the tattooist wove a distinctly dragon-shaped black outline through the Dark Mark, and around Draco’s arm. Every time one of the lines crossed the Mark, the snake would move, the man would exclaim, and Draco would Obliviate him yet again. 

-xxx-

More than two hours later, and well past midnight, they returned to the flat. The tattooist had insisted on completing the outline, so that he was ready to fill tomorrow. Orla suspected that his enthusiasm had less to do with their paltry deposit, and more to do with some cunning and covert wandwork from her new housemate. 

Walking up the stairs after locking the front door and turning off the hallway light, she found Draco slumped on the little sofa, his arm outstretched in front of him. 

“Sore?”

“You have no idea.”

Grabbing her rucksack that she’d brought from Hogwarts, Orla rummaged inside, finding a vial of single-dose pain potion that Madam Pomfrey had supplied her with, but she’d not taken. She tossed the small bottle at him, and he flipped the cork out using his thumb, with practised ease, and downed the lot, sighing with sweet relief. 

“Potions! It’s almost like we’re back at school,” he smirked. 

“Don’t be a smart arse. I could have taken that myself, but your need seemed greater than mine,” she retorted, sitting next to him on the other cushion and crossing her legs as she faced him. “So, what happened? What did you do?”

“Well, it fucking hurt, that’s for starters.”

“Tattoos generally do hurt, Malfoy. They’re done with needles piercing the skin, as you no doubt noticed, they’re not branded by magic.”

“Thanks for the sympathy. Anyway, as soon as his needle gun thing passed over the Mark, I had this burning pain, similar to how it feels when I get summoned, but only in that area. That would have been alright, but then the damn thing started to move, as if it could feel the needle defacing its lines. That fucking thing lives and breathes.”

She nodded for him to continue, genuinely interested in what had happened. 

“Of course, he noticed, and he completely shit himself, looking at me as if I was some kind of freak, so I had no choice but to Obliviate. It wasn’t happening all the time, so I just cast it when needed, as you saw. Tomorrow, I think I’m going to have to Imperio him, I don’t think there’s any other option, I’m going to be there for hours and I wouldn’t want to continually Obliviate – that could cause permanent damage.”

“What spell did you cast on the ink bottle, just as I left?”

“You saw that did you? I told you that we needed to add some magic to the mix. I have no idea if it will work, but I sent a curse to the ink, something Aunt Bella showed me, it drains the victim’s strength and blocks creativity and intuitive thought. I’ll be casting it on the colours tomorrow, too. I thought that if enough cursed ink is injected into the Dark Mark, it might just block the connection?”

“I like the thinking behind it, and it just might work. Unfortunately, we won’t know this unless someone comes to find us, so it’s a bit of a double-edged sword,” Orla replied, impressed but concerned.

“The snake recoiled from either the cursed ink, or from the injection breaking its surface. A Dark Mark will always try to protect itself from damage. The dragon design is huge, my arm will be flooded with the cursed ink, and thousands upon thousands of holes will be injected all over it,” he said, earnestly, grabbing her hands and pleading with her to understand.

“What if the cursed ink damages you? Or someone else?”

“I’ve already planned for that. Once the tattoo is finished I’m going to destroy all the inks that I cursed, either by accidentally knocking things over, or something else. Sadly, I’ll then have to Obliviate again, since we can’t afford to pay for the damaged ones, but in the future, we’ll do something to make it up to him, I promise.”

“And what about you? You’re evading that bit of the question.”

“Orla, I don’t care if my fucking arm falls off, I have to do everything I possibly can to destroy the Mark.”

“And if it destroys more than your arm?”

He sighed, toying with her hand in his as he leaned back on the sofa, his hair flopping down over one tired eye.

“Then who cares? I’ll die running. No one gives a shit about me anymore.”

His face was exhausted and defeated, no longer the swaggering peacock that she had watched saunter the halls of Hogwarts over the last seven years. 

“I care, Malfoy.”

“Why?”

“It’s a mystery to me,” she shot back. “But yet, here we are.”

To her surprise, he laughed. Perhaps he was used to simpering fools like Pansy Parkinson catering to his every whim. Well, he wouldn’t find any arse-kissing here. 

“Bed?” he asked. 

“I thought you’d never ask. I need to go and see Brenda first thing tomorrow about my job in the pharmacy. Shall we see if we can transfigure the bed, maybe into two smaller ones?”

“Did you sleep well, earlier? Because I did. In fact, I’ve not slept so well as that for a long time now, Orla. If you’re happy to leave it how it is, so am I. No funny business, I promise.”

“Ah, I’m offended, Draco. No funny business?"

“Definitely not. My arm hurts too much. Give me a few days to recover?” he smirked, raising his eyebrows suggestively. 

Draco Malfoy joking around? Who would have thought it? It seemed as if the Slytherin King might actually have a decent soul, after all. 

It was fairly easy to sort out sleeping attire; Orla was in one of the pairs of pyjamas that she’d kept here at the flat, and Draco was in his undershorts and an old Muggle Aerosmith t-shirt that had once belonged to her boyfriend, whom she’d been seeing last year, and she’d hung on pathetically to the black garment after he’d relieved her of her willing virginity and then broken her heart. Arsehole. 

Anyway, Malfoy looked far better in the slim-fitting t-shirt than Conor Cready had done. 

As they wrapped themselves in the covers that night, they were less careful not to touch. Draco’s right arm slipped across the centre of the mattress and his cold hand sought her own, grasping it firmly, the squeeze giving all the thanks that his words could not.

Thank you. I feel safe here with you. 

Surprisingly, she felt quite safe too. It was good to not be here alone.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It bodes well that the Mark is reacting,” Malfoy had muttered, through clenched teeth. “The needles are piercing it in thousands of places, and the cursed ink is pouring in. I can feel it.”

Orla winced for about the twentieth time as Draco flinched at the sharp jabs of the fast-moving needles in the tattooist’s gun, as the dragon outline was filled in with various shades of dark green. Draco, as he’d envisaged, had needed to Imperio the large, bearded man who had seen the Dark Mark move the previous evening. The artist needed to complete the job, then Draco would Obliviate everything from his mind before paying and leaving. As it was, Orla wasn’t sure who looked more terrified, the Muggle under the Imperius curse, or Draco, with the snake brand on his arm writhing frantically as more of its body was covered, as if it were being slowly suffocated. 

“It bodes well that the Mark is reacting,” Malfoy had muttered, through clenched teeth. “The needles are piercing it in thousands of places, and the cursed ink is pouring in. I can feel it.”

She rubbed his other arm ineffectively, in a vain attempt to soothe his pain, and felt a surprising rush of compassion for her unexpected new friend. He was being extremely brave, despite the pain he must be in. 

She’d woken in the dead of night, the street in darkness outside, and had sat bolt upright in bed, scared and breathing heavily. When she’d lived here alone all those months, the nights had always been the worst. Always wondering whether some magical force would discover her while she slept, whilst her guard was down. 

Draco had sleepily put out an arm and taken hold of her shoulder, pulling her to lay down closer to him, arranging her head on the side of his chest and snaking his arm around her back, holding her against him in a comforting manner. Not fully awake, he had made soothing noises before falling asleep again, seemingly happy to hold her close. Orla had felt strangely comforted by his physical presence, and surprisingly the next thing she remembered was waking up still in his arms, the sunlight streaming through the window. 

“Morning,” he’d said, stretching his slim body like a cat, and she’d taken that moment to discreetly move back to her own pillow. “You slept well?”

“Yes, in the end. Thanks, Draco.”

He’d looked across at her, a serious look in his blue eyes. 

“Anytime, Orla. We’re in this together.”

She’d waited for the joke, for the punchline, but none had come, so she’d just lazed in bed for a while longer, enjoying the quiet companionship and Draco’s unthreatening presence in her bed, unlike that raping bastard Yaxley. She’d shuddered, forcing her mind away from her tormentor, and jumped out of bed to grab the shower first. They had a busy day ahead. 

As soon as the pharmacy opened, she’d left Draco in the flat and gone downstairs to go cap-in-hand to Brenda, but as it turned out, she hadn’t needed to. As she’d begun to apologise, her boss and landlady had grabbed her hands with a sigh of relief, and told Orla how worried she’d been when she hadn’t returned from the week away she’d requested, with no signs of life in the flat. 

Brenda admitted she’d used her own set of keys on the second day to enter the flat to see if Orla was in difficulty, but had been even more concerned to find the flat locked, but empty. 

Orla had asked if it was possible to have her job back, and Brenda had agreed immediately, saying she’d not been able to find anyone else in the near-month that Orla had been gone, and that she was welcome to start the following day, once she had herself settled. She hadn’t even asked for an explanation. Perhaps the haunted look in Orla’s eyes had made her too uncomfortable to question further. 

Bouncing back up the stairs to the flat, she’d been delighted to tell the news to Draco, who had made tea and toast for them both in the small kitchenette. 

“Just me that needs a job now,” he’d said, slurping strong English breakfast tea from a pink mug with flowers on. 

“You’ve got a lot to learn first, wizard boy,” she replied, “and I’ve only got one day’s grace to give you a crash course. I’m going to start in the shop tomorrow morning.”

“Let’s do it. After my appointment, of course,” he winced, looking down at his arm with the tattooed dragon outline around the Dark Mark. 

And so, here they were. In an empty tattoo parlour on an early-morning appointment that Draco had somehow Confunded the artist into opening for. Imperio cast, he had cursed the inks, and then allowed the frightened man to get on with his work, which was actually an impeccable piece of art. 

A few times Draco had screamed in pain, and it seemed as if the Dark Mark was fighting every step of the way. 

“I’m glad to get this reaction,” he muttered. “If nothing was happening I’d be worried I was simply painting over it. But the pain, the snake moving, its fighting against something. I’m definitely doing something, but I have no idea exactly what,” he finished, gritting his teeth against the next wave of pain.

Suddenly, his face turned even whiter than its normal pale shade, and his eyes rolled back into his head. He wasn’t making a sound, but he was shaking. She shook his free arm, hard, calling his name. 

“Draco! Speak to me! What is the matter? Is it the pain?”

His eyes opened, and the whites had a slightly red tinge, as if a tiny blood vessel had broken behind them.

“The Mark is burning,” he explained. “It’s a summons. He’s calling the Death Eaters, and for the first time ever, I’m going to ignore it.”

He closed his eyes again, a film of cold sweat covering his face, shuttering the sheer panic she’d seen there. 

-xxx-

Hogwarts was halfway through the second lesson of the morning when Snape felt his Dark Mark burn. 

Now?

It was an odd time of day to receive a summons, and he wondered immediately what the bloody hell had happened. He began to stalk down the corridor towards his office and private chambers to change into his Death Eater robes, because not even an emergency would excuse the followers from not arriving in the cloaks and masks that Lord Voldemort had so benevolently provided them with. 

The Death Eaters that resided within the castle wore their robes at all times, their masks concealed beneath the voluminous cloaks, but Snape continued to wear the same black coat and professorial teaching cloak that he always had. At least he had the benefit of being able to Apparate from anywhere in the school to wherever they had been summoned, so he would not risk being late and incurring the punishment. 

Little Hangleton it turned out to be, of course. This was now Voldemort's lair, and it looked creepier but yet more luxurious every time he visited. They were assembled in the main hall, but no naked witches or sumptuous feasts were laid out this time. The Dark Lord was incandescent, and someone was going to pay. 

“Who has destroyed their Dark Mark? I can feel that one has been damaged, one is not working as it should. Who has desecrated the brand I bestowed upon them, as a mark of my faith in their absolute servitude? Who would dare to violate me, Lord Voldemort, in this unspeakable manner?”

He was already in full-flow when Severus arrived; watching, counting and repeating himself as the Death Eaters arrived at different times from their various posts, eyes narrowed even more than the red slits they already were, waiting, just waiting, to find out who was not answering the summons. That witch or wizard was liable to be punished severely, most likely killed. 

As they arrived, Voldemort was forcing them to turn up their sleeves, to proffer their undamaged Marks for his perusal and inspection. Finally, he made his pronouncement. 

“We are one short,” he said, so quietly that the threat dripping from his words was palpable. “We are missing … young Master Malfoy.”

All eyes turned upon Lucius, whose blue eyes were downcast, as if he was either guilty, distraught, or simply not listening. 

“Where is your son, Lucius?”

“I do not know, my Lord. He left for school, and was in the care of Snape and my other brothers stationed there. I believe that he was allowed to abscond from school yesterday.”

All eyes swivelled towards Severus. 

“Severus and I have already discussed this matter. We had not believed it of great importance. The loss of your pathetic son is of no consequence to our organisation.”

Lucius winced, showing he was indeed listening to every word, despite his unfocused demeanour. 

“But now, now the boy is attempting to hide from us, to defect from his responsibilities. He remembers what happened to Karkaroff, oh yes! He knows what happens to bearers of the Mark who try to evade me. I know not what he has done to block the charm that links all your Marks to me, but hear this, everyone! You are to find Draco Malfoy, and you are to bring him to me … alive, for I have much to say to him… first. If you find Yaxley’s Mudblood with him, she is to be brought too. We have lost the conduit of the Dark Mark, but I have faith that one of you will find this coward. And that witch or wizard, will be most handsomely rewarded … with a place at my side.”

Riddle had made it impossible for any Death Eater to fail to put their utmost effort into seeking the runaway. Since Bella’s death, there had been much gossip and speculation about whether the Dark Lord would take another into his confidence, and who it would be. There was a buzz of fevered anticipation at his offer, in truth a poorly-concealed bribe, as the assembled Death Eaters expressed their desire to find the boy who had broken ranks, the one who could be their ticket to a place at their master’s side. 

Snape could only hope that wherever Malfoy and Roach had concealed themselves, that it was a fucking good hiding place. 

-xxx-

Hermione was packing her overnight bag for another ‘forced’ stay in the Headmaster’s private quarters, throwing in something to wear to the emergency Order meeting that Lupin had called, and the reason for her summons to his office, watched by Parvati from her bed. Her friend was clearly upset. 

“I hate this, Hermione! I hate that this is happening to you. Can’t you just, not go?”

“What would be the point of that, Parvati? If I didn’t go, one of the others would just come and drag me there.”

“Why don’t you run, like Orla did?”

“And where would I go? My family are gone, my best friends are dead. At least here I have you, and Seamus, and McGonagall.”

Parvati crossed the room and hugged her, and Hermione returned it awkwardly, for it had usually been Lavender that was the recipient of Parvati’s hugs, not herself. 

“I’m scared,” Parvati continued. “I’m scared of living in this world, and what’s happening, and what’s going to happen. I’m pureblood, but I certainly don’t believe in pureblood supremacy, nor do I want to live in a world where that’s the ideal. After the summer, after our NEWTs, what happens then? Do we have to go out in the world, pretending we all support Voldemort? I don’t know if I can do that.”

Hermione didn’t know how to reply. Everything the Order of the Phoenix was doing, was working to ensure that Parvati’s fears never came to fruition, that they might stop Voldemort before he could do more damage. But she couldn’t share that with her friend, not yet. Parvati had been in the DA, but she wasn’t emotionally strong enough to join the Order. She wasn’t coping well after Lavender’s death, let alone all the others they had lost. 

“I have to go,” Hermione whispered. “Don’t stay up here alone, ok? Go down to the common room, spend time with the others.”

Parvati nodded, sniffing, but had already laid back down on her bed, staring up at the canopy above the four-poster, so Hermione doubted she’d make it out of the dormitory. 

As she entered the common room, bag over her shoulder, she stopped to talk to Seamus, telling her friend what Parvati had said, and seeing the care etched across his prematurely lined forehead. The stresses of the last year had clearly got to him, and he looked far older than his eighteen years. 

“Can’t you stay with her tonight?” he asked. “I can’t go up and get her, and she won’t listen to any of the younger girls.”

“You’ll have to send one of them up to check on her, even if she doesn’t come down. I have to go, Seamus. I have no choice.”

“Fucking dirty bastard pervert Death Eaters,” he spat. “Makes me fucking sick, Hermione, to think of you … doing what you have to do.”

She couldn’t reply. There was no way that Professor Snape compared to the abusive deviancy of Yaxley, or indeed any of the other Death Eaters. She wasn’t going to sell him down the river, or badmouth him. The best course of action was to say nothing, so she kissed Seamus’ cheek and hugged him tightly, before extricating herself neatly and slipping through the portrait hole, heading towards the Headmaster’s office. 

She had turned only one corner when she was grabbed roughly by the elbow. 

“And where do you think you are going, Granger?”

It was Professor Snape, and he whirled her around to face him, forcing her to look up, and she saw his eyes were blank and expressionless, the same mask he wore to teach a class, or to address the school, or anywhere really, apart from the times when they were alone together. 

“I’m … I’m heading for your office, Sir. I received your request for me to attend you there tonight, at this hour.”

“You weren’t planning on getting lost, then? Following the same route your little Mudblood friend took, straight out of the school?”

Mudblood. He would never call her by that name. They were undoubtedly being watched by concealed Death Eaters. Better give them a good show, then. 

“No! I don’t know where Orla went, I’ve told you. Please, let go of my arm, you’re hurting me.”

He gave her elbow a hard yank and unbalanced her, pulling her closer towards him. 

“I’ll be hurting you a lot more soon enough, don’t you worry about that,” he snarled, his lips contorted in an ugly slash. “I believed it prudent to escort you myself, lest you attack any more of the Professors in this school on your way to attend me.”  
“I would never attack a professor. I only retaliate when I get groped by a Death Eater who has the gall to call himself a teacher.”

She was hot and angry, not really needing to act when thinking of the vile Walden Macnair. Snape grabbed hold of her shoulders and slammed her against the stone wall, only it didn’t hurt a bit, it was as if the wall was made of soft, pliant rubber. He must have cast a non-verbal spell to cushion the blow as he threw her. 

“Your mouth is as filthy as your blood. Perhaps I should clean it for you. If you cannot hold your tongue, I shall punish it.”

He took hold of her round the neck and jawline with his large hand, his thumb firmly under her chin, and pushed her head back sharply before crashing his mouth down upon hers and forcing his tongue between her lips, swiping it sharp and fast inside her mouth, raping her tongue with his own, again and again. She struggled, and was rewarded by his bony hips fixing her to the wall so that she could not escape his grasp. His erection pressed against her mound – he must already be suffering with his compulsion. They needed to get to his office before he was forced to satisfy the curse in the cold hallway under the voyeuristic eye of Merlin knows how many Death Eaters. 

Hermione parried his tongue with her own, aroused by his kiss, enjoying his dominance. She heard a tiny noise of pleasure escape from his frantic lips, and the very real danger of the situation reared its head.

She thought fast, and bit down on his bottom lip, hard enough to break the kiss, which must have been looking less forced and ever more consensual by the second, but hopefully not to truly pain him. 

“Bitch!” he spat, drawing back and wiping away the few spots of blood she had drawn. 

They were both breathing heavily, and she could see from his eyes that he was suffering. Hell, from the passionate kiss they’d just shared, her own compulsion would no doubt be putting in an appearance sooner rather than later. Snape pushed his hand under her hair, grasping her around the back of the neck and began steering her down the corridor. 

“My office awaits, I believe, Granger. You are about to dearly regret your last action.”

Without even trying to see where the Death Eaters may be concealed, she gave a frightened whimper, and allowed him to manhandle her through the corridors and down staircases, keeping a mild, visible struggle and a most unhappy look upon her face. When they reached his office door he pushed her inside, before slamming the heavy oak and firing security wards against it. 

“I apologise …”

She held up her hand. 

“Don’t. I think I worked out what was going on there. We were being watched?”

“A select few were lying in wait for you. I believe that their intention was to accost you as you made your way to my office. Not to interfere with you, for they are not allowed to do that, but to add their own brand of bullying in order to make you feel worse about yourself and the position they wrongly presume you to be in."

“Thank you for being there.”

“I behaved appallingly.”

“Yes, you did, and you played your part well.”

“As did you,” he grumbled, ruefully, touching his bitten lower lip, and slumping into one of the fireside armchairs, looking annoyed and defeated. 

“Are you compelled?” she asked.

“It is certainly grumbling, I fear. However, it is not yet at a desperate stage, and we should get to Grimmauld Place as soon as we can, for we have much to discuss.”

“Alright, if you’re sure. Let me just get changed and we can go.”

She turned to head for his bathroom to change in, and Snape leapt from the chair and took hold of her arm, far more gently than he had done in the corridor. 

“Do not. Do not remove your clothes in my chamber, because I am not sure I will have the control to avoid following you. Just come as you are to Grimmauld, please?”

There was a desperation in his eyes that hadn’t been present in the corridor, where he’d locked away his feelings, but it was there now. She stepped towards him, and placed a tentative hand on his crotch, over his trousers, over his long coat. His penis was still hard and erect, and she began a slow rub over the area, almost enjoying the expression of surprise and pleasure that passed over his austere features. 

“You are suffering far more than you admit, Sir. You cannot attend a meeting like this, it will only worsen, and you know it. Please, let’s just deal with it before we go, you said yourself there are important things to discuss tonight, and you cannot concentrate if your mind is … elsewhere.”

Her hand was still moving slowly over his erection, gently squeezing, and his hand closed over hers, mirroring her movements, and that fiery black desire was now burning in his eyes. Hermione felt a thrum of arousal between her own legs. 

“I need you,” he whispered, trailing his wand down the front of his frock coat, which unfastened all the buttons in one single cascade, and she, for the first time, let her small hands flutter to the buttons and zip fastening of his trousers, undoing everything slowly, releasing his hardness from its cramped prison. 

As the zip reached the bottom, his swollen cock pushed forwards over the opening, covered by a pair of plain black undershorts. Hermione began to massage it through the material, and he let loose with a long moan of relief. 

“Sit,” she whispered, and he sat back down in the armchair that was directly behind his legs. 

She knelt before him on the hearth rug.

“No,” he protested, trying to pull her up from her knees. 

“Sir, please allow me?” she requested, slipping his penis from the shorts and stroking all over the invitingly-soft skin with her hands - it was so irresistibly touchable, compulsion or not. “I mean, I don’t know how … I’ve not done it before, but …”

“Merlin’s bollocks, Granger, you could drive a wizard to madness. As if you have need to convince me to allow you to suck my cock. Do as you please, stupid girl.”

She continued to stroke him as she knelt between his splayed legs, looking up at his familiar face, which was leaning on the fingers of one hand as his elbow rested on the chair arm. Snape’s distinctive long, dark hair was falling forwards, just touching his shoulders and falling into his eyes, a little. But it was the eyes that did it. Those raven-black pools desired, invited, encouraged and tempted. She didn’t give one single shit that he was her professor, her headmaster; for right now he was just a man that was focused entirely on her. 

Hermione leaned forward and gave the bulbous head of his penis an experimental lick, making his hips jump about a foot from the chair. 

“Fuck,” he muttered.

That must mean he liked it. She returned to the head and began to swirl her tongue around it, trying to think what would feel good for him. She had the basics of what a blow-job should entail, but putting it into practise was a tad different, although he tasted good and she loved the silky softness of the skin there. 

“Get your mouth down me, girl, because this is not going to last long, you bloody succubus.”

His growled words went straight to the seat of her knickers. She was learning that Professor Snape made love with his mind and voice, as well as his body. 

Instinctively, she pushed her mouth down the shaft, keeping her lips in contact with his hot skin, taking as much of him as she could, although there was a natural stopping point when the head met the back of her throat. Embarrassingly, there was still quite a bit left to go in – what was she supposed to do with the excess?

“You won’t get it all in on the first go,” he rumbled. “Just do what you can. Use your hand for the remainder and don’t hurt yourself on my account.”

Hand. Got it. She took hold of the base and began to rub it whilst dragging her mouth back up his cock, straight away pushing down again. 

“Holy bloody fuck, mother of Merlin … Granger!” he gasped, pushing his hips upwards, again. 

That response would work as indication she was doing it right. Hermione began to find a rhythm, sliding her mouth up and down the shaft, feeling for his bodily responses, wanking the base and using her spare hand to cup and heft his ball sack, which caused him to shout so loud that she almost lost her grip. His hips were undulating underneath her ministrations, his cock getting harder and wetter in her mouth, leaking fluid from the tip, which, contrary to the ramblings of Miss Lavender Brown, really didn’t taste all that bad. 

She felt his fingers thread into her hair, cupping the back of her skull and ever-so-gently encouraging her movements. There was none of the grabbing and forcing that she’d heard mention of. His tenderness made her feel appreciated, and desired. It made her want to do this for him. She sped up her movements as the volume of his groaning increased, keeping her mouth sliding up and down his cock, moving her lips to increase his pleasure. 

“Granger … you need to move …” he gasped, his fingers tightening on her head. 

She did not slow her rapid sucking, if anything, his words made her increase her pace, wanting to see how far she could push him, to see if she could make this powerful wizard come just by doing this. 

“Hermione! Please, stop …” his voice trailed off, and she looked up to see him staring intently at her, his words at contradiction with the utterly anguished lust upon his face. 

His teeth were bared, and he could hold on no longer, his hips thrusting into her waiting mouth as he came, his semen dribbling from the end of his cock and increasing in quantity. 

“Gnghh … Uhhh …. Oh, yes. Oh fuck, yes. Yes, witch. Take it. Take it all …”

Much of his seed spilled out of her mouth and back down his cock, onto his balls and goodness knows where else. She swallowed a little, for research purposes, and found it neither pleasant nor horrendously unpleasant. 

“Bloody hell, Granger,” Snape gasped, clutching her cheek with one exhausted hand and tilting her face to him, as if pleased him an untold amount to gaze upon her reddened face with his come dribbling down her chin. “Stupid girl. You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I’m sorry it went everywhere,” she replied, embarrassed at her lack of finesse. 

“Don’t you ever apologise to me, witch. Ever.”

He took a few deep breaths, as if trying to return the air to his lungs, then extracted his wand from the sleeve of his coat and sent cleansing spells first at her, and then at his own lap, before tucking his penis away in his shorts and standing to refasten his trousers, offering a hand to pull her to her feet. Holding her shoulders, he looked down at her. 

“Thank you. That was …”

“A way to relieve your symptoms,” she interrupted, quickly, although the adolescent part of her that craved his praise wanted to hear how sublime it had been, how satisfying her attentions were, even for her first time. 

“Indeed,” he replied, his eyes becoming the shuttered windows they usually were. “Can I assist you in any way? Do you have any symptoms, currently?”

“No,” she answered, not entirely truthfully. 

Her proximity to the headmaster and the touching of his bare, private skin had caused a thrum of arousal, but she wasn’t completely sure that it was the compulsion. Hermione had a horrible feeling that it might just be her own desire, which was a complicated thought, considering their relative positions. She couldn’t help but remember the time they had made love, when neither of them had required it. 

Like lovers, he had said. It had certainly felt real enough. 

“Let’s get to Grimmauld,” she continued, taking his hand and giving it a gentle tug towards the fire.

-xxx-

It took Severus less than a second to realise that he had made a grievous error in stepping through the Floo connection with his usually severely-buttoned frock coat gaping open. Lupin’s eyes were on him straight away, looking him up and down in astonishment. 

“Have you been running, Severus?” he asked, teasing, but with a sharp question inherent behind it. 

“Just removing my coat, Lupin, for it is now June and the weather is warm,” he replied, drily, taking off the garment and hanging it on the cloak stand by the kitchen door, and congratulating himself silently that he remembered to fasten his fucking trousers, otherwise there could have been far worse things hanging out than his shirt-tails. 

Hermione had walked over to greet Kingsley and Audrina, but other than them, no one else was yet present. He was certain that Lupin was sniffing the air, however well he was disguising it. Oh, the wolf suspected that he was interfering with Granger, he was fairly sure about that, but he found himself in no hurry to reveal the extent of their private shame. At the moment, all Severus could think of was the little witch sucking his cock, exquisitely tentative, and how luminous she had looked with his spunk around her mouth. It was a disgusting thought, but as much as he berated himself, the bastard image would not go away. 

The fire glowed green behind him, and he quickly moved out of the way as Minerva and Pomona both tumbled through, and Sprout was effusively glad to see Lupin, hugging him and ruffling his hair as if he were still an eleven-year-old in her Herbology class, not a heavily-scarred man of nearly forty. 

The two professors were quickly followed by Fleur, accompanied surprisingly by a red-headed young man, surely the one surviving Weasley, who was carrying what appeared to be a very small, but very alive, dragon under his arm, who was currently coughing out ash from the journey by Floo. 

Charles Weasley patted the animal on the back, calling him ‘Garth’ and encouraging him to cough up the powder and ash that the stupid creature had inhaled. Granger was straight over there in a flash, swinging herself upon Weasley who was forced to pass the dragon to Fleur, who seemed equally as adept at handling it, to accept her embrace, lifting her right off her feet. Granger even wrapped her legs around him, such was the enthusiasm of her greeting. 

Severus was struck with a strange urge to yank her out of the newcomer’s arms, not wanting her body that close to any wizard that was not himself. This was clearly ridiculous, since she neither belonged to him, nor were they in any kind of ‘relationship’. The words jealous bastard began to torment him from the dank recesses of his mind, and he quickly forced them back there, showing an unwarranted interest in the tiny dragon, instead. Fleur was cradling it as if it were a large, slightly unruly and rather scaly house-cat.

“Charlie,” Hermione was saying, her eyes shining with tears, “I’m so sorry … what happened to your family …”

Charles hugged her tightly again, and thankfully her feet were now back on the ground.

“We’ll get the bastards responsible, Hermione,” he replied, vehemently. “I won’t rest until I’ve avenged every last one of my brothers, Mum, Dad and Ginny. And Harry! Harry was like a brother to all of us, including you.”

“Shall we sit?” Lupin asked. “Everyone is here.”

There was a scraping of chairs against stone as every witch and wizard took a seat around the large wooden table in the Grimmauld Place kitchen. The meeting began with he, Minerva and Pomona reporting exactly what had come to pass during Dolores Umbridge’s first speech as Minister, that they had attended in the Ministry atrium. There were shocked faces and gasps of despair as their tale progressed, Charlie putting a protective arm around Fleur’s shoulders as she realised that the indictment that had been made would affect her, being part-Veela. 

“It ees a good job I am already dying my ‘air for work,” she sniffed. “I cannot be recognised as a Veela without zee blonde couleur. I look completely ‘uman. No one would suspect!”

“Fleur,” Minerva asked, “we cannot go any further without asking you if you saw Filius Flitwick arrive at Gringotts? Was he accepted? What has become of him?”

“Goblins, zey are little batardes, uhhh, bast-ards, you know?”

Everyone nodded. 

“Zey do not care for anyone ‘oo is not a goblin. Zere are only five witches working at the bank, including me. Zey were very un’appy to ‘ave ze little professor. But, Feelius, ‘ee is okay. Ze goblins like zat ‘ee carries a wand and ‘ave made space for ‘im in zere quarters, next to Gringotts.”

“Well, that’s something,” Minerva replied, her mouth pursed tightly in disapproval at the treatment of her friend and colleague. “But it cannot be right that such a highly-qualified, intelligent wizard, is being held prisoner with a group of goblins.”

Lupin shuddered as Severus continued, advising him that the indictment included werewolves, and that not even Greyback, with all his dark connections, had survived the cull. It had been indicated that more werewolves would likely be turned in by Snatchers, if they were not caught by Aurors, as a huge price had been placed upon their heads. 

“I should imagine my price is the highest of all,” Lupin muttered. “And what of my son? Is there any threat to Teddy? He is part-werewolf, after all, even if he shows no signs.”

The table fell silent at his salient point, and it was an awful hush that fell before Kingsley’s deep voice finally broke the silence. 

“I should imagine that Umbridge will leave no stone unturned in her search for you, and that it is entirely probable that your son will be sought under the new legislation, due to his parentage,” he announced, unwillingly. “I suggest that the child is brought to a place of safety without delay.”

The panic on Lupin’s face was clear to see, and he rose from his chair as if he meant to go hurtling out of the door that very moment to go and collect his son. 

“Don’t be stupid, Lupin,” Severus admonished. “I will go.”

“You cannot go, Severus. Andromeda still believes you to be aligned with the dark, she will attack you on sight. Audrina and I shall go, Remus, write a letter that we can take with us so that she trusts us, and will allow us to bring the child here, and herself too, if she wishes to stay with him.”

Lupin summoned parchment and quill and began to scratch away immediately. Merlin, the wolf’s handwriting was even worse than his own. Whilst he was writing, the small dragon wriggled itself free from Fleur’s arms, and tottered down the centre of the large table, providing a moment of blessed relief as it hiccupped a small blast of fire, and managed to inadvertently light the candle on the centrepiece. 

Granger asked Weasley about the dragon, and a tall story ensued about a breeding programme for Romanian Longhorns, this one being a genetic anomaly, and its subsequent life path as the world’s first domestically-kept dragon. Severus fought to keep the smirk from his face as the tiny green dragon with the sparking gold horns faced down Minerva, expectantly, and the stern professor eyeballed it straight back, before finally relenting and handing over a palmful of meaty cat treats that were secreted within the pocket of her robes. Everyone else laughed openly and her disgruntled expression, and Garth’s satisfied one. 

At length, Lupin’s letter was complete and the Shacklebolts Apparated from just outside the back-garden door, after Snape had confirmed the Fidelius charm also contained the garden. 

A concerned silence fell across the room. Either they were about to be joined by a half-werewolf, half-Metamorphmagus baby … or Umbridge’s new half-breed control team would have found them first.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Merlin knows, I cannot keep my hands from you,” he whispered, enunciating each word quietly and precisely, his breath warm and tickling upon her ear. “Just having my body close to yours, eases my compulsion and quiets my mind.”

Those who remained in Grimmauld Place whilst Kingsley and Audrina went on their mission had good reason to be concerned. There was a tense atmosphere as they discussed between themselves that Kingsley probably knew far more than he was letting on regarding the sanctions and directives that had been laid down over the capture and eradication of part-humans, due to his role within the Auror Office. Most likely to avoid distressing Remus, he had quietly taken his wife and volunteered to go and fetch the baby, who was still only mere weeks old. 

Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout appeared to be using Garth as a welcome distraction, playing with the little dragon as one would a pet, asking Charlie questions about the breeding programme and generally making inane small talk. Lupin had been up and down to the stove three times now, making cups of tea, and deciding that now would a good opportunity to tidy the crockery on the kitchen dresser. 

Professor Snape was standing before the fire, looking as if he was either warming himself, or debating whether to jump through the Floo and escape the unbearably cloying tension in the room. 

Hermione decided to put the time to good use and inspect some of the remainder of the house that was now her sole property, as she hadn’t gone beyond the kitchen since she’d been gifted the entire building in Harry’s will. She murmured her excuses, not that anyone was really listening, and slipped out of the kitchen door and into the long hallway that she’d last seen when she, Harry and Ron had been hiding here last year. Not for the first time, her heart ached for her lost friends, and the tragic way they had been killed. Sooner or later, the full impact of their deaths was bound to hit, she knew that, but for the moment there was so much to think about, so much to plan, in order that their loss would not have been in vain. 

Ignoring the decapitated heads of the Black family house-elves that were nailed to the wall going up the stairs, she looked in the door of the main drawing room, with its threadbare old sofa in rigid wooden frames, where she’d spent a few uncomfortable nights, and the ominous Toujours Pur tapestry with its burnt-out faces of those who had ‘shamed’ the family. 

The next room was her favourite, the library, although she had to creep past the curtained portrait of Walburga Black to reach it. One thing, if all this was ever over, she would research how to remove the painting of the odious, bigoted witch from the wall, and gleefully burn it. 

Pushing open the heavy door with a loud creak; the smell of old books was apparent before she’d even stepped into the library, which was lined with dark wood bookcases built from floor to ceiling. It was not a large room, but as a home library it was a wonderful place to be. Both the tall windows had comfy window seats with cushions where one could curl up in a nook to read, and there were two large armchairs and a small but squidgy sofa set randomly around the room to encourage a reader, each with side tables on which to place books and cups of tea. 

The thought that all these books were now hers, gave her a moment of great joy in the current gloom. She walked around the bookcases, there were five in total, not able to help running her fingers reverently along the leather-bound spines of these mostly old wizarding tomes. A magical library of her very own. It was almost better than the rest of the house put together. 

Hermione began to pull out the books one at a time, perusing the covers and skimming the introductions before slotting it back in its place and taking out another, just drinking in the wealth of knowledge and history that her dear friend had bestowed upon her. 

Engrossed in her own literary world, she did not hear the door creak open, nor the almost silent footsteps that crossed the wooden floor towards her, until he was directly behind her. 

“Always to be found in the library, Granger,” he drawled, his voice low and heady, standing far too close.

She stilled her hands on the shelves, where they had just replaced another book and were itching to take another. His proximity was having an instant effect on her compulsion, and she felt a now-familiar skip in her stomach, causing her to draw a sharp intake of breath. 

“If in doubt, go to the library,” she whispered, and he seemed to read her desire, as she felt his hands grip either side of her upper arms, and squeeze lightly.

“Do you object to me touching you?”

“No,” she replied, not turning around, and her voice barely audible. “I want you to.”

“I want to.”

Hermione felt Professor Snape’s chest against her back as he moved in behind her, sliding one arm around her body so that his hand was splayed across her belly, holding her in place, and the other hand tucked her hair behind her ear and held it there as he burrowed his long, hooked nose against it. 

“Merlin knows, I cannot keep my hands from you,” he whispered, enunciating each word quietly and precisely, his breath warm and tickling upon her ear. “Just having my body close to yours, eases my compulsion and quiets my mind.”

She remembered their discovery that his compulsion was somewhat satisfied by contact with her, whereas hers was heightened the longer they spent together, and wondered if he had forgotten, as he pushed his hips into her bottom, and she felt the beginnings of a burgeoning erection as he ground against her, releasing almost-inaudible groans of pleasure in her ear.

His slow grind moved her against the bookcase, and the intoxicating combination of the scent of old parchment with the growing arousal that he was provoking within her making a heady mixture. He was now bending at the knees, before grinding upwards, feeling as if he was simulating fucking her devastatingly slowly from behind. She wanted more. 

“Professor …”

“Not your professor,” he replied, huskily against her ear. 

“Severus.”

“That’s more like it.”

She allowed her head to fall back a little on to his shoulder, meaning that his mouth was now resting on her cheek, rather than her ear, practically offering itself up to be kissed. 

“Severus, I need more.”

“I know you do, little witch, but we cannot, not here, and in present company.”

His physical actions made a mockery of his words as her continued to rotate his groin into her arse, and allowed his tongue to trail across her cheek. 

What they would have done next, Hermione had no idea, she would probably have encouraged him to take her roughly up against the bookcase, and her knickers were getting wet at the thought, but the decision was taken out of their hands by the door being creaked open and Remus Lupin entering the library. They were so closely entwined, they did not have time to extract themselves from one another before hearing his exclamation.

“What the fucking hell are you doing, Severus?” 

His tone was a combination of both anguish and fury, and Snape pulled his hands and body from Hermione as quickly as he could, turning around and stalking towards the window, obviously needing his erection to dissipate before facing his colleague, which was understandable, but left her staring down Remus alone, his expression one of hurt. 

“Remus,” she began, “please don’t worry …”

“Well, that is a problem, Hermione, because I am worried! I’ve suspected this, you know, ever since your first visit here together,” he shot back, clearly unhappy. 

“No doubt your superior sense of smell alerted you, rather than your keen and penetrating mind,” Snape jeered, still facing the window with his hands in his trouser pockets. “Don’t think I missed your wolfish sniffing, Lupin.”

Remus ignored him, and took a step towards her, putting a protective arm around her shoulders. 

“Whatever hold he has over you, Hermione, whatever he has told you, you owe him nothing. You are not a piece of meat to be …”

“Remus, please let me stop you. Please, before you say something you’ll regret that could bring our fledging Order tumbling down?” she begged, placing a hand on his chest where she could feel his heartbeat thumping loudly with anxiety. 

He looked down at her, and then across at Snape. 

“Snape, I mean, Severus, does not treat me like a piece of meat, I can assure you. And actually, I do owe him everything, not that he would ever agree,” she said, trying to get her explanation out quickly. “I was one of the three Muggle-borns not evacuated after the final battle. Dean Thomas was killed by Voldemort, Orla Roach was gifted to Yaxley to use as a personal sex slave. In order to stop the same happening to me, Severus stepped up and insisted I be given to him.”

“Well, I’m sure that’s all very admirable, Hermione, but that isn’t much damn good if he’s using you for his own pleasure. You do not that owe him that!”

“For fuck’s sake, Lupin, just listen to the girl!” Snape growled from the window, angrily.

“It was his plan to have me known as his personal Mudblood so that I would be safe from the attentions of the other Death Eaters, not to force me into his bed. However, Voldemort cast a compulsion curse over the two of us, and at a Death Eater meeting, Severus was given a second cast, causing his compulsion to be even worse than my own.”

Remus was silent. 

“You are aware, of course,” Snape interjected, turning away from the window and walking towards them, “of the torture an unsatisfied compulsion curse places upon the victim? But, of course you are. You are a qualified Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. I do not need to elucidate.”

“He tried to fight it, Remus,” Hermione continued. “He tried so hard, even causing himself great physical and mental pain to avoid taking advantage of me. Eventually, as a mutual decision, we agreed that the only way to proceed would be to deal with the effects of our curses as they arose. It is not ideal, but it is better than the alternative. I can assure you that Severus has always treated me with respect and gentleness, despite the awkwardness of what we have been forced into.”

No one spoke as they allowed Remus to process the information. He looked between the two of them, awkward, apologetic, suspicious and resentful. Finally, his expression changed to one of resigned disappointment, and he allowed his shoulders to slump. Hermione stood on tiptoes, for he was even taller than Snape, and hugged him. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for caring, and for being willing to fight for me. I’m happy you don’t need to, on this occasion, but it means more than you know, to know that you have my back.”

“I am always here to protect you, Hermione,” he said, pulling back and holding her by the shoulders, looking at her as if he was a concerned father. 

“And in case you wish to protect me also, Lupin,” Snape drawled, his eyes smirking and his hands insouciantly in his pockets, “I can advise you that Miss Granger has always treated me with respect and gentleness, too.”

“Like you need it,” Remus muttered. “Slytherin arsehole.”

“Gryffindor prick,” Snape retorted. 

Hermione snorted out loud, making both of the adult wizards realise how ridiculous they sounded. 

At that moment, they heard the back-garden door clatter and slam, causing them all to bolt for the library door, race down the narrow hallway and crash into to the kitchen, Remus desperate to see whether Kingsley and Audrina had returned with his son and mother-in-law. 

-xxx-

“Teddy!” he cried.

Remus dashed towards Audrina, who was carrying a wrapped bundle out of which a tiny head was poking, with wisps of bright blue hair on top. His boy! His son! She held out her arms so that he could retrieve Teddy from her, cradling him to his chest and kissing his tiny, sleeping face. His eyes were filled with tears, swimming with them. 

He had not seen this child since he had left Tonks at Andromeda’s house, the night before the final battle. Teddy was perfect, looking for all the world like his mother, which was rightly fitting. A single tear dropped from his eye on to his son’s forehead, and he softly wiped it away. 

“Andromeda?” he asked the Shacklebolts, looking them both. 

“She didn’t want to come, Remus,” replied Audrina. “We offered her a place to live, so she could stay with Teddy, but she insisted she didn’t want to hide, didn’t want to be on the run, when she had no need to be. She told us to tell you that she has every confidence in your ability to look after your son. She’s sent all his things, from his cot to his bottles, Kingsley has it all shrunk down for you, you just need to Engorgio things when you know where you want to put them.”  
Kingsley placed a small bag on the table, indicating this was where Remus would find Teddy’s things. 

“This was the right decision,” Kingsley said. “Aurors have been ordered to apprehend and cull all werewolves. It is only a matter of time before someone extends that to those with werewolf blood. There aren’t many, as you know, for those afflicted by lycanthropy do not usually produce children, which makes Teddy unusual, and he will be sought, Remus, mark my words. He is safest here with you, and Andromeda is safer not having him in her custody.”

He nodded, knowing that Kingsley spoke the absolute truth, but finding the reality hard to swallow feeling guilty that Andromeda had lost her husband, her daughter, and now effectively her grandson in quick succession. But Kingsley’s words rang in his ears, and these were not to be taken lightly, or pushed away due to guilt or sentiment. 

Culled. 

Apprehended. 

Sought.

Afflicted. 

Ugly words that meant Remus Lupin was now unwelcome in the very world he had grown up in. He was no longer allowed to exist. He sat down at the kitchen table of a house that didn’t belong to him, along with a group of people who were his only lifeline to the outside world. He wasn’t going to deny it all looked rather hopeless right now, and he looked around as everyone sat themselves down, grave looks upon their faces. 

Garth teetered down the table, intrigued by the new arrival, and stepped tentatively towards where Remus was cradling his baby son. The little green dragon leaned his head nearer the infant, sniffing, perhaps trying to work out if this small blue thing was food or foe. 

He looked up at Remus, before turning back to Charlie, and cocked his head to one side as if asking a question. 

“It’s a baby, Garth. Baby. Not food. We have to look after the baby, ok?”

Garth coughed, making his whole body flinch, and a tiny puff of smoke came out of each nostril. He arranged himself fussily, like a duck settling down to nest a pile of eggs, and sat down next to Remus and Teddy, as if he had taken it upon himself to act as a very tiny guard, for this very tiny wizard. 

“Remus.”

It was Kingsley, his face grave and etched with concern and tiredness. He was now walking a precarious a tightrope as Severus was, and it showed. Remus currently owed his entire continued existence to Kingsley Shacklebolt keeping his whereabouts a secret every day in the Auror office. 

“What are going to do at the full moon?” Kingsley asked. “You’ve made arrangements for yourself in the cellar here, I know, but you cannot leave Teddy whilst you are transformed. Even if there’s no risk of you hurting him, he cannot be left unattended.”

“The bebe can come to my cottage,” Fleur offered, immediately. “When Lupin must go to the cellar, ‘ee must bring Teddy to Charlie and me at Shell Cottage first. We will care for ‘im while ‘is father cannot.”

“Fleur, that is a courageous offer, but really …”

“It’s your only offer, Lupin,” Charlie cut in. “Everyone else has work to go to, and Teddy can only be kept somewhere that is under a Fidelius charm. That’s here, and Shell Cottage. Just accept, mate. We have to press on.”

Remus felt overcome with the generosity of his colleagues – his friends. They were supporting him. 

“Well, that is settled, then. Thank you, Fleur, and you too, Charlie.”

He stared back down at his sleeping son, unable to believe he was holding his precious boy in his arms again. 

“Shall we press on?” Pomona Sprout asked, taking an inelegant slurp from her teacup. 

“Draco Malfoy,” Severus said, immediately. “He has absconded from Hogwarts, taking with him the Muggle-born that had been under the control of Corban Yaxley. I cannot see how they managed to get out, but nonetheless, they have done it. In addition, Draco has found a way of blocking the conduit of his Dark Mark, which as you know, contains a variant of the Protean charm that allows Riddle to control and summon his followers.”

Remus watched Severus rub the inner side of his left arm, guiltily, as he went on. 

“The Dark Mark, to the best of my knowledge, does not give an exact location, but allows the brander, in this case, Voldemort, to sense whether his Marked followers are dead or alive, and from the meeting I attended, it is now clear that he can also sense whether a Mark has been damaged, but not whose it was. The Death Eaters took a year to find Igor Karkaroff when he fled in fear after the Tri-Wizard tournament, but find him they did, and they tore him limb from limb. Draco will remember this, and it seems that young Mr Malfoy has managed to block, destroy or break the connection. I can only hope that he has not cut his own arm off to achieve it.” 

“Or worse,” Remus answered. 

“I would hope that wasn’t the case. If Malfoy was going to kill himself, why would he have not simply done it at school? Why go to the trouble of running away, and taking Miss Roach with him? Of course, that is only my presumption.”

“I think that Draco is too big a coward to take his own life,” Hermione commented, and all those who had taught Draco as his professors murmured their agreement. 

“Do we think that Malfoy has come over to the Light, should we be seeking him out to recruit him?” Minerva asked. 

“I think not,” Severus replied. “If he finds us, then we will certainly offer him shelter, but I would suggest that young Malfoy would rather not fight for a side at all. He will want to hide, lay low, keep out of the battles, and I cannot say that I blame him, for he was forced underage into the Death Eaters, and has witnessed heinous acts within what should have been the safety of his own home. I believe we can only wait and see what happens. I merely wanted to make everyone aware of the situation.”

A long conversation ensued, each member reporting any news they had heard or new developments in their places of work. Audrina Shacklebolt had filled them in on the new ward at St Mungo’s that was purely for Death Eaters, much to everyone’s disgust, and Fleur had advised that a huge vault had been reserved for Voldemort at Gringotts, but as yet it was still empty, and none of the goblins were any the wiser as to what was going to be stored in there. Would it be gold, treasures, or something more sinister? 

“I have information,” said Kingsley, reaching into the pocket of his robes and pulling out a sheaf of parchment which he passed around the table. “Here is a list of all the key departments at the Ministry. All of them, without exception, now have a Death Eater or supporter of the Dark in the top roles. However, within each of those departments, there are those who are simply biding their time, keeping their heads down, seeking either to flee, or with their ear to the ground for signs of a resistance movement they can join. There are great numbers within the Ministry that can be relied upon, when the time comes.”

“When the time comes for what?” Charlie asked. 

“When the times comes to reclaim our Ministry,” Kingsley answered, simply. “We cannot kill Voldemort and expect everything to simply fall back into place. We have a dangerous witch at the helm in the shape of Dolores Umbridge, and I wonder if she may be even more difficult to topple than the Dark Lord himself.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” snorted Minerva. “That hag will rise from the ashes like a dark pink phoenix, you mark my words.”

“Well then, it seems our first and foremast task is to kill the serpent.”

Severus had risen from his seat after his statement, and walked around to the other side of the table, near to the fireplace. 

“I presume that task will fall to me, unless anyone else happens to come across a giant snake that contains a part of the Dark Lord’s soul? No doubt I will have to attempt it during a Death Eater meeting or revel. My preferred method of destruction is Fiendfyre, but Miss Granger, Hermione, my apologies, has some Basilisk fangs which will also kill a Horcrux.”

“The sword of Gryffindor can also kill a Horcrux, as its blade is permanently impregnated with Basilisk venom,” Hermione added, “but it can only be wielded by a Gryffindor to whom it may present itself under conditions of valour.”

“There’s plenty of lions here,” said Charlie, “isn’t there, Remus, Minerva, Hermione? One of us ought to get it.”

“Don’t be flippant, Charles,” Minerva admonished, but he only laughed. 

“You never know, Professor,” he replied, cheekily winking at her. 

“Then let us leave things here,” Severus announced, “since I should return Hermione to the castle.”

Remus watched Hermione stand up obediently, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Although he concluded that knowing about their compulsion curse made things a little more palatable, knowing full well what they were going back to Severus’ chambers to do, he felt justified in not liking it. 

As the two bid the group their farewells and stepped through the Floo, and the others started to rise and gather their belongings to take their own leave, he gazed down at the small baby in his arms that was now his sole charge. 

My precious son, he thought. I will not fail you. 

-xxx-

Severus practically pushed Granger through the Floo connection, so desperate was he to be back in the privacy of his own office, which was in darkness, save for a huge, silvery beam of moonlight that was shining through the huge window where he often looked out over the school grounds. 

Standing in the eerie, blueish light, he spun her around, clasping her face between his hands. He was close, too close, too intimate, but as usual he was being cajoled and pushed by the compulsion that was now thrumming through his loins in earnest. 

“Do you still need more, Hermione?” he asked, searching her face for the answer he wanted, and his stomach lurched with pleasure when she nodded. “Will you allow me to take more? To overstep the boundaries again? To behave with you as a lover would do?”

“I would prefer it,” she replied, a small smile creeping to her lips. 

“I ask too much of you.”

“You ask nothing at all.”

He could not wait any longer. Not releasing the hold on her face, he did what he had been desperate to do again for so long. His tongue had touched her cheek in the Black library, but he wanted more, so much more. Leaning his dark head towards her, he sealed his mouth atop hers, moving his lips, feeling her begin to respond immediately. This soft little witch was responding to his kiss, and he didn’t intend to waste a second of it. He felt her arms reach out and encircle his waist, pulling him to stand closer to her, to press his groin against hers. 

As his growing erection felt the first touch of her body, he moaned, flickering his tongue along her lips to open her mouth for him to plunder. Rather than sink straight inside her, he began to lick along her lower lip with the very tip of his tongue, teasing slowly from one side to the other, enjoying the gasps she let out into his mouth. She stood there, her delicious mouth open to his attentions, as he trailed to her top lip and begun again, a slow flickering along it, enjoying her attempts to catch his mouth to kiss her properly.

I want her to want me, he thought, desperately. 

When he reached his starting place, having licked his way all the way around her open mouth, he pulled back a little, still cupping her face, but enough to make her open her eyes to question why he had stopped. For the first time, he thought he saw genuine desire there, although he was probably seeing what he wanted to see, rather than reality. 

He smiled, a rare and real smile, because he couldn’t help it, and hoped it wasn’t too much like a predatory old pervert. 

“Tell me,” he begged. “Please, tell me.”

Granger returned his smile, although it was mischievous and teasing. 

“Please, Sir, could I ask you to overstep the boundaries?”

Wench. 

He crashed his mouth down onto the sweet lips upon which he had just lavished such care and attention, and found her little tongue there waiting for him, ready to be debauched by his own, experienced one. He swirled his tongue around hers, forcing his writhing muscle far into her mouth, licking the length of her tongue and cramming himself inside her, the noises she was making heading straight for his cock. 

Letting go of her face, he slid his hands down her arms and pulled them upwards, not breaking the deep kiss, and wrapping them around his own neck, folding himself into her embrace, and she instantly pushed her hands into his hair, massaging the back of his scalp and exciting all the sensitive nerve endings there. 

Her whole body now open to him, he slid his hands back down, deliberately brushing slowly over her full breasts on his way to her waist before slipping around to her back, splaying his hands across her spine, holding her close to him as he kissed her, snogging her passionately as if both their lives depended on it, which in a strange way, they did. 

A cloud passed in front of the moon, throwing the room into temporary darkness, but they continued to kiss, each of their mouths open to meet the other. When moonlight filled the room again and bathed them in the ghostly blue glow, Severus could not resist sliding his hands down over her arse, squeezing, causing her to gasp in that way he loved. Emboldened, he reached under the school skirt she was still wearing and hooked his fingers in the sides of her knickers, tugging them down until her bum was bared, and squeezed the peachy globes again. 

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily, and wondered if his own lips were as red and swollen as hers. Drawing his wand, he cleared his desk and applied a cushioning charm, before slipping it back into his sleeve, taking a step back and looking her up and down. 

“Remove your knickers, Granger,” he instructed. “They are half-down, anyway.”

Severus watched her intently as she reached under her skirt and thumbed down her pants, pushing them a little way down her thighs before they dropped to the floor. 

“Hand them to me.”

She reached down and picked the plain black cotton knickers up from the floor, and handed them over, where he drew them to his large nose and inhaled, before rubbing the seat with his pale fingers. 

“Are you aroused by kissing me?”

“Very much so.”

“It seems so. Your knickers are wet, and I can smell your juices. They are quite … exquisite.”

He pushed the underwear into his pocket, and directed her to lay down on the desk, guiding her from sitting on the edge, to laying completely flat, and shuffling back so that he could push her knees up and outwards, and place her feet on the desk. Her skirt fell back, and immediately her wet pussy was open to him, he could smell her from his standing position above her. She was leaking already, and he swept a finger around her vagina, scooping up her arousal and bringing it to his mouth, to see if she tasted as good he remembered. 

“I am overstepping my boundaries, Hermione.”

“You certainly are, Sir.”

“Do you wish me to continue?”

“If you stop now I may have to Imperio you to carry on.”

He smirked, returning his hands to her thighs and pushing them further apart, stroking his fingers down to her luscious cunt and splaying her labia open wide so that he could dip inside all her hot and wet parts with several fingers in different places – rolling her clitoris, tickling her inner labia and urethral opening, and around her dripping entrance. 

“Ohh, shit,” she gasped, pushing her head back and tilting her hips upwards to press against his fondling fingers. 

“The previous time I had you across this desk, Granger, I was administering a spanking that left both of us thoroughly punished,” he drawled, not letting his fingers shirk their duty of masturbating her to orgasm. “The time before that, I sat in my chair on the opposite side to where we are, licking you to what I discovered later was your first ever climax. Do you remember both those occasions?”

“Oh, fuck, yes … yes, Sir, I do …”

“Not Sir.”

“Severus.”

“That’s better.”

“And now we found ourselves here for the third time, and I cannot tell you how much pleasure it gives me, to be holding open your wet cunt and watching it redden under my touch, watching your clit swell to three times its normal size as I toy with it.”

“Fucking hell,” she breathed, “sometimes I think you could make me come just by talking.”

He smirked. It had been said before, but not by a witch so young, so beautiful, so intelligent and so innocent as Hermione Granger. 

“Shall we test that theory? I can remove my hands?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she growled, like a protective, desperate little lioness, making him chuckle.

“I shall stop for just a brief moment to remove some clothing, if that is permissible? As once I see you come, I would like very much to fuck you over my desk, right where you lay.”

She didn’t answer, but whined as he removed his hands from the titillation of her pussy. That made him disrobe quicker than any mere words would have done. He began to unfasten his trousers, before changing his mind. Fuck it. They were too deep already. He cast a Divesto and removed every stitch of his clothing, banishing it to his bedchamber where it would be waiting for him, neatly on a chair. He left Granger dressed in her school uniform, not even the sight of her distinctive Gryffindor jumper and tie caused him to feel guilty enough to remove it. 

He’d never had any desire to lay a student over his desk and fuck her … until now. 

“That was quick,” she commented, as he returned his hands to their task, sliding them down her inner thighs until they reached their goal. 

“I felt that expediency was needed,” he smirked, now chasing her orgasm in earnest as he took hold of her clitoris with his thumb and forefinger, and used a finger from his other hand to tickle the head. 

She screamed, and her hips shot upwards. He held on to her clit securely, using the digits that were holding it secure to start a tiny up-and-down wank, to go alongside the agitation he was providing to the tip. 

“Please …”

“Please, what? What can I do for you, Hermione?” he asked, not ceasing his relentless masturbation of the hard, swollen bud. 

“Can you … I mean, is it possible, to have sex at the same time?”

What? 

He stopped touching her, and she groaned loudly. 

“Do you mean, can I fuck you and frig you at the same time?”

He enjoyed the embarrassment on her face, before realising that his reply was rather coarse to a young girl who had been a virgin until very recently. He was allowing his own arousal to override his good manners and that was disrespectful.

“I apologise. That was crude. Yes, my sweet girl, it is possible. Should I presume you wish me to demonstrate?”

“Yes, please. But now. Please.”

He would not tease her any longer. Giving his cock a quick shuffle with his right hand to ensure it was hard enough, which was stupid, of course it bloody was, he guided it to her soaking wet entrance, and pushed the first third inside, enjoying her incredible tightness, wholly undeserved by him, of course. 

Returning his fingers to her clitoris, he put them back in the exact same position they’d been, one frigging up and down, and the other tickling the over-sensitive tip. He began to shallow-thrust, pushing himself a little deeper each time, angling his hips upwards so that the end of his cock would bump against her G-spot, giving her sensations inside as well as outside. 

Granger had stopped speaking, stopped making noises, and was simply laying back with her mouth fixed open, her body rigid with sexual tension, taking in everything he was doing to her. When she came, it was going to be explosive. 

Sensing she was close, he sped up his thrusts, keen to time his climax with her own. He had the skill to do it, it was all a question of precision. He was in the dominant position, controlling both their orgasms, this should be possible. Adjusting his fingers on her clit, he pulled and wiggled and rolled the pearl until it was purple, and as hard as a little rock. 

“Come, beautiful girl. Come all over my cock. Let me feel you.”

Her hips thrust upwards, hard and rigid, unmoving on the absolute cusp of her orgasm. He pounded into her static hips until his own were a blur, determined to climax together, and this peach was about to come like the Hogwarts Express. Severus used three fingers of one hand, frantically frigging her clit to push her screaming over the edge. 

“Oh, fuck … Fuck! Severus! You … fuck! Oh, oh, ohhh ….”

Her cries forced his orgasm, and as he spurted, she screamed, long and loud, squeezing his cock inside her like a vice as she achieved her release, and her vaginal walls began to pulse and contract around him, drawing out his orgasm, milking jet after jet of hot come from him, shooting out uncontrollably. 

“Fucking hell,” he hissed, still pounding hard. “Fucking, bloody hell.”

As he began to slow his thrusts to a stop, he cupped her labia, gently stroking her folds and around her clit as she came down from her peak, still gripping his cock tightly inside her. 

Hermione pushed herself to a sitting position, and he tugged her forwards so that her cunt was on the edge of the desk, meaning he could leave his dick inside her, as it had not yet softened fully. He was amazed when she placed her hands on his shoulders and behind his neck, encouraging him to drop his lips to hers, and he willingly complied, kissing her gently, and feeling her tongue enter his mouth and seek his own, allowing her to swirl it around in an altogether more subtle way than his primal snogging earlier. 

“Could you take me to bed, please, Severus?” she asked, when she had thoroughly delivered her kiss. 

“Are we pretending again?”

“No. We are doing what lovers do. For the duration of this curse, we are lovers, like it or not. We have no other choices here, so I found one. I chose … I choose to like it. Rather than not.”

He lifted her up in one smooth movement, wrapping her legs around his waist and supporting her under her bare bum. His penis slipped out, of course, but it meant his fingers could reach down and dabble in her soaking wet pussy. Beginning the walk across the office to the panelled door of his private bedchamber, he amused himself by tickling her on her perineum, flickering between her vagina and her untouched little rear end, liking her wriggling in his arms. 

“I like it too, Hermione,” he replied. “I like it very, very much.”

She had found a choice to make, where it seemed they had none. 

Over-achieving little madam.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I choose you, Severus, because by making a choice, it effectively frees us from the curse.”

When they reached the bed, he set her down, allowing her to slowly slide down the length of his body, pressing her against his groin as her pussy grazed past his cock, meeting her eyes with a look of devilment that was reflected in hers. As soon as Granger’s feet were on the floor, Severus brought his hands up to her tie, unknotting the scarlet and gold stripe that proclaimed her a Gryffindor, and tugging on the end so that it snaked around her shirt collar and dropped into his hand. He tossed it on to a nearby chair, before taking hold of the hem of her school jumper and lifting it neatly over her head in one smooth movement, sending it to join the tie. 

Dropping his hands to her waist and beginning to pull her white shirt free from her skirt, he set his eyes upon hers, and voiced his concerns as he began to unbutton the garment from the top down. 

“Do you choose me, Hermione?” he asked, in a quiet, steady voice as his fingers moved down her buttons, undoing each one carefully and deliberately. 

“I choose you, Severus, because by making a choice, it effectively frees us from the curse.”

“You would not have chosen me otherwise,” he replied, flatly.

“You would not have chosen me, either,” she shot back. “We are student and headmaster, neither of us would have sought any kind of relationship with the other.”

She gasped as he reached the last button and slipped his hands inside her open shirt to cup her breasts, covered in a simple white bra with a little lace. 

“And yet, here we are,” he observed, squeezing gently and beginning to search for her nipples with his thumbs. “These are beautiful. Exquisite.” 

Granger blushed, and he could see that it spread down her face and neck, to the top of her brassiere where those petite but deliciously full tits were spilling over. 

“By having a relationship, of sorts, we confound the curse,” she explained. “We spend time together, we work for the Order, we are regularly … intimate. That is effectively a relationship, and it means that the time we spend feeling guilty and awkward about what we are compelled to do simply disappears, for we will satisfy the compulsion purely through our everyday activities.”

“And what of after?” he asked, putting his arms around her and trailing his fingers down her smooth back, reaching for the fastening on her uniform skirt, unbuttoning the waistband and pushing the loosened skirt over her hips and allowing it to fall to the floor, leaving her arse bare, since he had already relieved her of her knickers in his office. 

“After?”

“After we vanquish the Dark Lord and the curse is destroyed.”

He unhooked her bra and slid the thin straps down her arms, following their path with his fingertips before gently removing the cups from the pale globes they concealed. His breath caught a little as he fully exposed her tits, her pert nipples standing proud and just begging for his attention. 

“After that, if we manage it, then we are both free to pursue whatever life goals we wish to achieve,” she replied, subtly arching her back to present her breasts to him. 

Oh, I would fuck you every day for the rest of my life, little succubus, he thought. 

Severus reached forwards, taking hold of a pink nipple in each hand with his thumb and forefinger, beginning to roll them smoothly, feeling the nubs harden under his touch. They weren’t the only things that were hardening. Already his naked cock was showing signs of interest in another go. Bloody Merlin. The compulsion, or just down to the sheer allure of this young witch’s quick mind and luscious body?

“If you are willing,” he said, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on hers as he delicately fondled her nipples, “then that would seem to be a most effective solution.”

“I think I told you before, Sir, that this is not a hard task for me. You are very …”

Her voice trailed off and she once again looked embarrassed. Severus sat her on the bed and knelt before her, removing her sensible black school and grey socks, leaving her entirely naked. 

“I am very … what, Granger?” he asked, looking up at her from his position on the floor. 

She cast her eyes around the room, deliberately not looking at him, as if she was gathering her Gryffindor nerve to say something, and he suddenly had a burning desire to hear it. 

“Well, you’re, I mean … you are … averyattractivemansir,” she spilled out, all at once. 

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, getting up from the floor and sitting next to her on the bed, taking hold of both her hands in his, turning her to face him. “Again. Slowly.”

Her face was burning, yet he knew he needed to provoke this answer from her. He wanted it. Hermione straightened up, shaking back her hair and lifting her chin, as if ready for battle. 

“I said, you are a very attractive man, Sir. The longer we spend together, the more times we are intimate, the more I fancy you. Actually.”

She had batted the Quaffle very firmly into his hoop and he needed to be careful not to sit like with his mouth open like a gaping fish. A stunning teenage witch found him attractive? He had honed his sexual skills for when he took witches to bed, no question, but otherwise he had very little to recommend him. He was no fool, he owned a mirror. 

“You fancy me,” he deadpanned, not sure if it was a statement or question. 

“Please don’t embarrass me, Sir. I don’t expect you to feel the same way, given your skill as a lover, I’m sure you have any number of witches you could call upon, and I’m just an annoying student. I just wanted to tell you, so that you didn’t feel guilty, why I’m quite happy with the arrangement.”

With one swift, powerful movement, he wrenched Hermione from her position sat on the edge of the bed, and threw her backwards into the centre, landing her head neatly, well, almost neatly, onto the pillows and scrambled atop her like a wizard possessed, laying his slim, pale body the length of hers, trapping her underneath him. 

“For an intelligent witch, Granger, that was the most idiotic thing I have ever heard,” he growled, pushing up on his elbows so he could see her face. “You must be completely fucking insane if you believe I do not fancy every last inch of you in return.”

Severus enjoyed watching her expression change from shock to understanding, and he edged her thighs open wide with his knees, settling himself between her legs and guided his unfathomably erect cock to her entrance, pushing inside her with a hard, wicked thrust that forced her further up the bed and earned him a scream of delight. 

“Does this feel like a hardship?” he demanded, wiggling his hips as he remained pushed deep inside her.

He drew out, and thrust back in again, viciously hard, and all the way to the hilt, holding himself there. 

“Did that feel like I am in any way unhappy with your proposal?”

“No,” she replied. 

He drew out and thrust again, wedged deep inside her. 

“I didn’t quite hear you, Hermione.”

“No!” she squealed, “Severus …”

She lifted her hands and placed them on his shoulders, providing resistance for him to push against, one finger stroking the side of his neck and he curled his head towards her touch, for he craved it. 

“If I was unclear, Hermione, let me reassure you that you are the most sublimely tempting witch I have had on the end of my cock in many a year. Making love to you any time you desire will be my pleasure, and I thank you for discovering a way to give us the choices we lacked. I commend you.” 

Still seated inside her, holding himself still, although he was starting to tremble with need, he gave her as much commitment as he had the courage to reveal.

“When all this is over,” she whispered, caressing the sides of his neck and his bare, muscled shoulders, “I shall not regret this.”

“Then on a temporary basis, let us consider ourselves in a consensual relationship,” he confirmed, and watched surprised as her innocent face curved into a rather wicked smile. 

“Shall we seal the deal, so to speak?” she teased, clenching her vaginal muscles hard around his cock, forcing a surprised moan of pleasure. 

“You are a teasing wench, little girl,” he growled, and reared up on his hands, girding his hips into a fast, pistoning movement, thumping himself inside her, wanting nothing more than to ride her hard until he spilled himself yet again inside this witch.

Hermione grabbed hold of his shoulders, his upper arms, his neck – anywhere she could find to place her hands. Her hips were turned upwards, opening herself to his intrusion, meeting his thrusts with loud squeaks of pleasure. She pulled him down to lay flat upon her, reassuring him that he would not crush her, and he slid his forearms beneath her and hooked his hands over her shoulders, creating a firm position to thrust his hips into her frantically, feeling her tits squashed against his bare chest and the friction build up between their bodies. 

“Fucking hell, my Hermione,” he gasped out, holding her so tightly as his cock thrust repeatedly in and out – harder, faster, deeper. “If you are my lover … then this is my heaven.”

Severus could not hold it any longer, feeling his orgasm approach at great speed, and he did not slow his thrusting, making every stroke count as he ensured he fucked her completely, so that she would never again doubt his desire. Hermione threw her head back and arched her back beneath him, letting out a flurry of swears as his devastatingly-fast rhythm triggered her climax, and he felt the pulse and grab of her internal muscles sheathing his invading cock as he spurted his orgasm inside her with jerky movements, wondering if there was any spunk left to empty out after the evening they’d had. 

Once he’d come, and was stroking his softening penis slowly and gently inside her, he was hit with a wave of incredible tiredness as the efforts of the evening caught up with him, it was as if he’d taken a vial of Dreamless Sleep potion. He rolled to the side, laying his head on the pillow next to her, and gathered her up in his arms, not bothering to clean up the mess. He was too fucking tired, and Hermione did not protest, so she must be as physically and emotionally shattered as he. There was no talking, no whispered goodnights. 

As he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to claim him, his arms full of this naked young witch, her words returned to him. 

When all this is over, I shall not regret this, she had said.

If by some miracle they managed to defeat the Dark Lord and lift the curse, there was every chance that he would regret this for the rest of his life. Regret carving a space for her in his heart, a space only she could fill. 

What would he do, once she had gone?

-xxx-

Orla looked at the sleeping wizard with concern. It was now morning and the sun was streaming through the window, into the studio flat. Draco had crashed out as soon as they’d returned from the tattoo parlour, the magic required to Obliviate the man and remove the Imperio draining his final reserves of strength. 

He had woken several times during the previous afternoon and evening, and during the night, delirious and in pain, and Orla had given him glasses of water and the rest of the pain potions. They’d now run out, and at about three in the morning she’d been forced to introduce him to the joy of Muggle paracetamol tablets, trying to explain to his pain-addled brain how to take them, and how they worked. 

They must have done something, since she’d not heard another peep from him, and had managed to get herself up, showered, dressed, fetch a hot loaf from the bakery next door and eat breakfast, and he hadn’t even stirred. She was due in work today, and so picked up a notepad and biro, leaving him a note that she propped up on the bedside cabinet so that he would see it as soon as he awoke. 

 

"Good morning Draco!

I’ve had to go to work, as you know. I’m only in the shop downstairs if you need me, but I’m sure you’ll be fine up here. I suggest you just take it easy today, sleep lots, but if you need something to do, watch the television. I’ve a left a note on top of it with instructions how to turn it on. Follow them, because if you break my telly, I’ll kick your arse. 

Fresh bread in the kitchen, milk and butter in the fridge – you know what that is now, it’s the tall white thing that makes the “fucking annoying buzzing noise twenty-four hours a day”. 

If you’re in pain, you need to take more paracetamol, the box of tablets is right next to this note. You’ll see there’s a glass of water here too, to swallow the tablets with, they go down a lot easier if you actually drink it, rather than pretend to. I think the less said about that chalky white mess in the early hours when you insisted on chewing them, the better. Take two at a time, and no more frequently than four hours between doses. 

Feel free to have a shower, if your arm is not too sore. 

I finish at 5.30, and if you feel up to it, we’ll go out and get some dinner? 

Have a good day, don’t wreck the flat. 

x Orla x"

 

She quietly pulled the curtains again, across the length of the window, to darken the flat and prolong Draco’s sleep, before heading downstairs for her first day back at the pharmacy. 

As she walked out of her front door and locked it behind her, Brenda was just opening up the shutters that protected the chemist’s windows at night, and they shot up with a loud bang as always. Orla hoped the noise hadn’t woken Draco, and then chastised herself for not being able to be away from her new friend Malfoy for two minutes without him crossing her mind again. 

Entering the familiar shop calmed her in a way she hadn’t felt for weeks. It seemed indescribable that she’d lived through a wizarding battle, suffered under the Death Eaters and managed less than a month back at her magical school before ending up back in the Muggle world with an almighty bump. 

Working in a shop was never her ambition, she had done it to keep herself alive during the year that the Mudbloods had been barred from Hogwarts and sought by the Muggle-born Registration Committee, ending in trials and false convictions. 

Orla had always wanted to enter the field of Healing. During her career discussions with Professor Sprout during her fifth year, her Head of House had been supportive and encouraging of her choice, laying out the NEWTs she would need to be a Healer, and suggesting possible routes, such as at St Mungo’s where she’d find the widest choice of fields in which she could specialise, to village healing, mid-witchery, private healing contracts, or research. It had all sounded wonderfully exciting, but was all now dead in the water, thanks to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. She would never achieve those five NEWTs that she needed, and looked likely to be stuck in the Muggle world forever. Working in a damn shop. 

At least she had a chance to help the dispensing pharmacist with the prescriptions that she filled for patients from local doctors’ surgeries, and had become quite knowledgeable about different types of drugs and medications, their uses, their contraindications, and their appropriate dosage. It was interesting stuff. 

She’d had vague thoughts of nipping back upstairs to the flat during her lunch break to check that Draco hadn’t actually died, but Brenda had made it clear she was buying in lunch for the two of them, and wanted to chat. Orla supposed she ought to have expected that, for it was unlikely she could disappear for a month and then waltz straight back into her job with no explanation. 

Sitting down for thick chicken-salad sandwiches delivered by the girl from the bakery, with Styrofoam cups of takeaway hot chocolate and a cream slice each, Orla sat with Brenda in the back room, the shop sign turned to closed and the pharmacist having gone elsewhere for her lunch hour. 

“So,” Brenda said, expectantly, passing Orla a sandwich, “what on earth happened to you? The last I knew was that you needed a few days to sort out some trouble that had to do with your old boarding school, and then you don’t return for weeks. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not angry, I’m just concerned.”

And fucking nosey, Orla thought, uncharitably. 

“It wasn’t a great time,” she began, hoping that a story would somehow fall out of her mouth and convince Brenda to let it lie. “I did go back to my school, there were some problems there with some old friends of mine, but it all got a bit messy, I’m afraid, and I ended up having to stay with a family who live in a remote part of Scotland, not far from my school, but there was no phone, and I wasn’t able to leave.”

“And why couldn’t you leave?”

“I had used all my money,” she chanced, desperately. 

“Were you held there against your will?” Brenda asked, looking a little excited at the thought of real life drama. 

“Not at all,” Orla lied. “It’s just very remote up there, cut off from everything, I really am so sorry. Thank you for keeping the flat for me, I was so worried when I had no way of contacting you.”

Brenda seemed disappointed at the bland tale. 

“You had paid the rent until the end of the month, it was yours until then, whatever happened,” Brenda assured. “Although I would have been reluctant to re-let it without having heard from you. You have no idea how happy I was to see that you had returned.”

Orla felt tremendously guilty that her employer and landlady had been worrying during her absence. It gave her a comfort that at least one person cared for her. She missed her parents so much that it hurt, hating the Death Eater murderers that had slain Gerard and Angela Roach in their own living room, having found the location of the Muggle-born’s house in the tiny Irish village where they resided. She was an orphan, but had been forced on the run from her parents’ killers so immediately that she had not had time to truly mourn, and reflect on that as an only child, she was now entirely alone in the world. 

“Brenda, there is one other thing.” 

The older woman looked up from her cream slice and gestured for her to continue. 

“I bought, erm, a friend home with me. We’re living together. Is that allowed?”

“A friend, eh?”

Orla blushed. 

“Yes.”

“I’m very happy to see that you have a new ‘friend’, Orla, after your disaster with that little bastard Conor Cready. You always deserved better than him. Your new young man, he treats you well?”

She decided to allow Brenda to think that Draco was her boyfriend. If it meant he could stay in the flat, she’d let him be anything he needed to. 

“He does. He’s really, really nice.”

It was surprising to hear herself say those words about Draco Malfoy, who had been almost universally loathed by those outside Slytherin house for the whole of their time at school. 

“Well then. It’s your flat, and its meant for two, so I don’t see any problem with it. Did you want to put the rental agreement in both your names?”

“No, that’s fine. Leave it as is … for now.”

“Very sensible, young lady. You have come back with a wiser head on your shoulders, I think?”

“Perhaps.”

The rest of the day passed without event, and Orla found herself stupidly excited to get home. To Malfoy? It was a curious thought, but evidently, she had become fonder of him than she’d expected due to their enforced time together, and the fact that they were currently keeping each other alive. 

She bounded up the stairs and through the door of the studio to find Draco cross-legged on the bed, the contents of her money tin spread out in front of him, sorted out into piles of coins and notes in ascending value, with her notebook resting on his knee and her biro in his hand. 

“What on earth are you doing?”

He looked up, and smiled. 

“I’m learning Muggle money. I think I’ve doing rather well. I’m writing down amounts here, look, and then using the notes and coins to make them up. Practising, so I don’t look like a total prick when I have to pay for something.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Well, I thought I ought to do something constructive once I woke up from what seems like a twenty-four-hour nap.”

“You couldn’t figure out how to turn the telly on, could you, Draco?”

“No fucking idea,” he admitted, and they both laughed, while he scooped all the money back into the tin, clearing a place for her to sit on the bed next to him. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Those strange white pills seemed to work really well for my pain and fever. And, look.”

He held out his left forearm, turning the colourful dragon design back and forth for her to admire. It really was a beautiful piece of artwork, even under an Imperius curse. It was also fully healed. 

“You used a healing spell to get rid of the dried blood, didn’t you?”

“Of course, I did. Why suffer unnecessarily?” 

“Smooth.”

“Thank you. Now, I believe your note mentioned something about dinner? Because a day on bread and butter, washed down with cups of tea wasn’t the most appetising, I tell you.”

“Brenda gave me an advance on my wages, and a little extra as a settling-back-in gift. Fancy a Chinese?”

He looked so confused that she burst out laughing. 

“Do I fancy Chinese people?”

“Chinese food, idiot. Haven’t you ever … no, I suppose you haven’t. Put your shoes on, let’s go. You are in for a treat, Draco Malfoy, an absolute treat.”

Her empty stomach growled in anticipation. 

-xxx-

Hermione awoke to see Professor Snape looking at her from the neighbouring pillow, his long black hair spread messily around his face, looking even darker against the white cotton of the pillowcase. 

“Good morning,” she whispered, turning towards him. 

“Is our agreement still in place?” he asked, and his face had a beautiful expression of hope upon it, so much so that her stomach flipped with pure want. 

“That is a curious greeting, but yes, of course it is.”

A smile spread across his face, turning up the corners of his face, usually so dour and downcast, and his lit his black eyes. 

“In that case,” he murmured, “I shall greet you in the way I would expect to greet my lover.”

He extended an arm towards her, indicating that she should move towards him, which she did at once, and that funny feeling in her gut that reminded her of the compulsion, but wasn’t, thrummed again. Snape pulled her against him, they were both naked, and his skin was soft and hot. He kissed her slowly upon her forehead. 

“Good morning, Hermione. What a great pleasure to find you here.”

It was no effort at all to tilt her face upwards and offer her lips to be kissed, which he did, gladly and thoroughly, his tongue gentle and seeking, stroking one hand through her hair, and the other tracing circles on her lower back. Professor Severus Snape really was as sensual as hell, he knew exactly what to touch and how to touch it so that her every synapse was ignited, every nerve-end standing to attention. No one would ever know to look at him, this dark wizard dressed to repel in his severe, buttoned-up black cloak of armour, with his neutral face shutting out the world, the intense passion he kept concealed inside. 

As she began to move in his arms, responding to the touch of his hands and lips, she felt an unpleasant sticky sensation between her thighs, obviously the result of two rounds of sex in quick succession without cleaning up after themselves. 

“I need to shower,” she told him. “I’d rather not walk back through the corridors, you know, like this, could I possibly use your bathroom before I leave?” 

That wicked smirk passed over his face again. She really did like it too much. 

Get a grip, Hermione, she berated herself. He’s still your professor, and the headmaster, no matter what other games you might be playing. 

“If you will consent to me joining you in the shower, I shall arrange for you to Floo directly into your dormitory fireplace. No corridor walking required.”

He arched an eyebrow in expectation of her answer. If he wanted to make her believe that she was his lover, for real, he was doing a damn good job of it. She’d expect nothing less from this wizard she knew to be a stickler, a perfectionist, although she gulped at the thought of what they were about to do. 

“Don’t be nervous, Hermione. We have already been intimate with one another more times than I can count. I know your body and you know mine.”

“But, we are not compelled.”

He sat up, swung his legs out of the bed, and stood before her, buck-naked, unabashed, allowing her to rove her eyes up and down his body, before holding out a courteous hand to her, as if he were formally asking her to dance. 

“No, indeed we are not compelled,” he challenged, that damned eyebrow raising once again, goading her to accept. "We have agreed to be consensual."

She took his hand, and allowed him to pull her from the bed and lead her across the stone floor of the chamber and into his sumptuous bathroom. He set the shower to run, and it was a large, open-walled cubicle, set with the same grey stone of the floor and walls. When the steam began to rise, indicating the water was hot enough, he gestured for her to step inside first. 

Standing under the warm, heavy spray, allowing it to cascade upon her head, she smoothed the water through her hair, soaking it through so that it pulled the curls out and hung straight down her back. She was facing the back wall of the cubicle, so she could not see him, but he had not yet joined her. Had he changed his mind? Had he been teasing?

A second later, she felt the touch of his hands upon her head, and her hair began to foam as Severus massaged shampoo into her scalp, his long fingers firm but gentle as he washed her hair thoroughly, then moved her back under the direct spray of the water to rinse out all the suds. When the water flowed clear, she waited. Waited to see what he would do next. 

What she hadn’t expected was for him to begin smearing a thick conditioner that smelt of strawberries through her hair, smoothing the tangles, whispering an incantation that was easing his fingers’ path through the knotted nest atop her head. 

“Feel,” he said, quietly, when he had finished, taking hold of her wrist and guiding it behind her to stroke the conditioner-laden hair, slippery and free of every last tangle. 

The water cascaded down in front of them, just brushing her nipples and falling on her feet. She turned around to face him. 

“How did you …?”

“How did I what, Miss Granger?”

“The conditioner? How do you even know about that?”

“Give me a little credit, please,” he smirked, and leaned closer. “And certainly, don’t judge my ability to tame hair by my own greasy head. I take no interest in it.”

“Would you like me to wash it for you?”

“Another time, I would most definitely like that. But this morning is about you.”

Snape backed her under the water, and she closed her eyes, feeling him join her, pressing his chest against hers, and stroke his hands through her hair as he rinsed the strawberry conditioner from it, and she felt the soft curtain of hair stroke against her back. Hermione placed her hands on his narrow hips, feeling the dips and curves there, trailing her fingers down his hipbones and brushing them against his wet pubic hair, that framed his cock like a nest. 

“Cheeky,” he admonished, not at all seriously, as he reached behind him for another bottle, this one full of shower gel, and he squirted a large blob into his palm. “Come here, my temporary lover. Allow me to cleanse away the mess that I made.”

Holy shit. Hermione was so aroused that she was making even more mess. Thank goodness for the water. Severus divided the gel between both his hands and headed straight for her breasts, putting the cold blobs directly on her nipples and making her gasp. He began to massage the silky soap around her chest, spreading out the lather under her arms, down her arms, and them back up to her breasts again, fondling the slippery globes with what appeared to be great pleasure. 

Trailing his hands down her stomach, he pushed them between her legs, cleansing the dried emissions from her inner thighs, then encouraging her to open them wider and admit him as he soaped every part of her, from her pubic mound to the cleft of her arse. 

“Hold on,” he instructed, and she saw a stone that was curiously shaped to form a kind of hand-hold to grab on to – she could have sworn it hadn’t been there a few seconds ago, but could not see his face to see if he might have just transfigured it. 

Snape’s lubricated fingers slipped into every hole under the pretence of washing her, not that she minded. She felt him burrow under the hood and flick her clit, tickle her urethral opening, sink two and then three fingers inside her vagina and twist them around in a way that had her thrusting her hips forward nastily, pushing for more. He ventured further back, tickling around her rear end as he’d done before, but with all the soap she was so slippery that he was able to push the head of his finger inside, slowly and gently, and she couldn’t help but squeal at the sensation as he twisted it a little further in, bringing the other hand back to her clit, which was now aroused and distended, and he twirled it around, slipping the hard clitoris through his fingers again and again. 

“Oh, oh, ohh …” she panted, hopping around on his fingers, his smallest finger now pushed fully inside her bottom as he masturbated her from front to back.”

“Are you going to come, my little peach?” he teased, in a stooped position, his mouth level with her breasts, and he was suckling the nearest nipple. “I think you are.”

He sped up the movements of his fingers, and Hermione had to clutch hard to the shower handle with one hand, and to his shoulder with the other, to stop her legs buckling under her as she reached orgasm, writhing her genitals against his invading fingers. Severus stood upright and supported her, holding them both partly under the cascade of water as she shook, her head against his lean but strong chest. 

“You made me all dirty again,” she admonished. 

“I am most dreadfully sorry,” he replied, smirking to show he was not in the least bit contrite. “I shall leave you to complete your shower.”

“You don’t have to go.”

“I do. Because if I do not, I shall want to spend untold amounts of time fucking you against my shower walls, and that is before we even think about the bathtub.”

Oh, the bathtub. That enormous tub with the dozen taps that reminded her of a miniature version of the prefects’ bathroom. He leaned in close to her ear. 

“I said, my love, do not think about the bathtub. That is for another time.”

He raised her hand and kissed it, leaving the shower, in a strangely formal gesture considering they were both wet, naked, and he’d just masturbated her to orgasm with his finger up her bum. She took the bottle of shower gel and began to wash away the evidence of his endeavours, pretending that she wasn’t watching him towel his body down just a few feet away from her. He was tall, lean, pale and utterly compelling to look at – and that was nothing to do with the curse. Hermione suddenly felt the urge to run her hands up and down his nakedness right where he stood, to commit every curve, scar and imperfection to memory. 

As if he’d heard her, he wrapped the towel around his waist and fixed it there, giving her the type of reproachful look that he used to give the students in Potions class if they had just done something expressly against his instruction. She raised her eyebrows in return, as if daring him to admonish her. His mouth twisted with slight amusement, and he left the room, but not before she’d seen the slight tenting of the towel. 

-xxx-

Hermione spun through the short Floo connection from Snape’s office directly into her dormitory, banging her head on the top of the very small fireplace as she stepped through. 

Parvati was still sleeping, that was odd. The breakfast bell would be ringing any moment. 

“Parv!” she called, “Parvati! Wake up! You’ve overslept.” 

Walking over to her sleeping dorm-mate’s bed, she saw the picture of Parvati and Lavender taken at the Yule Ball in fourth year. Both girls had a copy of the photograph, which had them posing in their ballgowns, with ‘Pav and Lav’ sprinkled across in red glitter. That had been a wonderful night, looking back on it. 

Hermione leaned over and shook Parvati’s shoulder, she needed to wake her up before Parv received a late mark for breakfast, but the girl’s body was unresponsive, her eyes half-open and her lips blue. Half a dozen empty potion bottles lay littered about her bed, including the one clutched in her now lifeless hand.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am fine,” Hermione replied, turning her head away.
> 
> “A girl commits suicide in your room, during the time you were elsewhere with me. I would suggest, Granger, that there is a high chance that you are not fine.”

Hermione sat motionless in one of the large armchairs in the Gryffindor common room, with Seamus wrapped around her, one strong arm around her shoulders and the other hand clasping hers in her lap. He too, looked equally pale and shocked. 

Raising the alarm in a daze once she realised what she’d discovered, Gryffindor Tower was soon attended by Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomfrey and one of her assistants, two Death Eaters, and Professor Snape. Hermione couldn’t even look at him. 

She had been shoo’ed out of the dormitory and down to the common room whilst Madam Pomfrey worked on Parvati, but Hermione knew it would be in vain. Parv had been cold and blue when she’d touched her, she had clearly been dead for some hours. How soon after she’d left last night had her friend done this? While she had been indulging in all manner of sexual delights with the headmaster, not all of them demanded by the compulsion, her dorm-mate had been so desperate at the state of the wizarding world that she had done … this. 

Seamus had attempted to comfort her, but the truth was that he was just as shattered and as guilt-ridden as she was. 

“You told me, Hermione,” he castigated himself, “you bloody told me, and I just brushed it off, thinking she’d be ok, and that she’d come down if she needed me.”

“Don’t, Seamus. I was the one who left the dormitory knowing what a state she was in. I could have stayed.”

“You couldn’t. You know what you have to do, if you’d have tried to get out of it, it would have meant worse punishment for you.”

Was that strictly true, though? If she’d told Snape that she had serious concerns that Parvati was suicidal then would he have demanded she attend his office, or the Order meeting? Of course, he wouldn’t. However, the compulsion would have come across one, or both, of them during the course of the evening, so at some point she’d have had no choice but to leave her friend. Thinking about it made her brain hurt with the possibilities, the devastation, and the guilt. 

At that moment, Padma Patil came clambering through the portrait hole in a great hurry, accompanied by one of the Ravenclaw prefects. Neither Hermione nor Seamus could meet her eye as she dashed straight through the common room and up the stairs, clearly having been summoned to attend her twin sister. The grief on Padma’s face sent them into each other’s arms again, holding each other tight as they cried. It was easy to shed tears for Parvati, such a kind, gentle girl, who had lost herself in a bewildering new world. 

“The only one to blame for this is Voldemort,” she whispered, quietly but fiercely in Seamus’ ear as they hugged. “We could not have foreseen this, either of us.”

“I know you’re right,” he replied, drawing back, “but I feel so fucking responsible. You told me she was in a bad way.”

“I did, but I never thought she’d do something like this. I wasn’t listening to her properly, I should have sat down and taken the time to really hear her.”

Hermione could feel herself physically shaking from shock and guilt, and Seamus felt it, and held her tighter. They were the only two left now, from their original house year group. It was like a cruel game where their numbers were being culled by a madman, one by one. Visions of Harry and Ron, dead in the school courtyard, flashed across her mind, accompanied by the memory of Neville and his last stand taking on Nagini, which was ultimately doomed to failure as the snake’s jaws had closed around his throat. Dean, taken down with a cursory flick of Voldemort’s wand - Lavender, mauled to death by an untransformed, bloodthirsty werewolf with a taste for young flesh. And now Parvati, too frightened to carry on living, had removed herself from the world that tormented her. They had all started here together, seven years ago, with excitement in their hearts and the wide-eyed enthusiasm of youth. She felt tears began to fall again, tears that would not help any of them. 

McGonagall came striding into the common room from the stairs that led up to the girls’ dormitories, her face looking deeply lined and tired, fixing any stragglers who had not heeded the breakfast bell and headed for the Great Hall, with a stern eye. 

“I understand that the death of Miss Patil has caused you great upset,” she said, casting her gaze around the room. “However, without wishing to be unsympathetic, Gryffindors, life goes on. Her sister will appreciate your support over the coming days and weeks, and we shall continue as before, attempting to navigate our way through the current … climate. Every one of you, get to breakfast, and then to your lessons. Now, please.”

Not one of them dared to disobey, and picking up their bookbags and equipment needed for the morning’s lessons, they trooped through the portrait hole and down to the Great Hall for breakfast, before needing to be told a second time. McGonagall had enough to worry about without errant lions causing her further consternation. No doubt whilst they were gone, Parvati’s body would be removed, and hopefully returned to her parents. Padma would clear her sister’s belongings from the dormitory, and by the time Hermione returned, she would now be the sole occupant of the room. 

She was not able to return to Gryffindor Tower until after lunch, when they had an hour before afternoon lessons commenced, and Hermione headed straight up the stairs towards her dormitory with trepidation as to what she might find. 

It was as expected. Empty. Parvati, and every one of her belongings, were gone, as if she’d never existed. The other beds in the room were stripped bare, their drawer-tops empty, the pegs free of robes and cloaks. Only her own bed was made, her pillows plumped and her chunky patchwork blanket over the top of her school-issued bedsheets. Harry and Ron smiled and waved at her from their frames on the top of her chest of drawers, and in many of the photos she was there too, smiling, carefree. 

She threw herself face-first on top of the bed, needing to draw her breath and rest for a short time before afternoon classes. Sliding her hands under the pillows to plump them up under her head, the crumple of parchment met her fingertips, and she drew it out curiously, not that it was unusual for her to find pieces of homework, textbooks or even half-chewed quills in her bed from a late-night study session. 

The parchment contained a note, short in length and simple in its message. It was not signed, but the cramped, spiky handwriting identified the writer immediately. 

 

"Do not seek me out, for I shall come to you tonight, via your fireplace, after curfew. 

This is not your fault, Hermione. Remember that."

 

After she had read the missive twice, it rolled itself up, and poofed into thin air. 

-xxx-

Orla was grateful for the support of Draco’s hand as she walked slightly unsteadily down the backstreet pavement after their Chinese meal, with which they had ordered a bottle of rather crappy wine and necked the lot, washing down their crispy duck and pancakes with it as if it were pumpkin juice. They were both now rather pissed, especially as Draco was proving to be such a lightweight in the alcohol tolerance department, as they headed towards the high street where the flat was located, two roads away. 

Draco had tried all the new and unfamiliar foods with gusto, only balking at some seafood soup that he’d declared looked like ‘brains in a bowl’. His restaurant etiquette was impeccable, and he had done a brilliant job of counting out their Muggle money to pay the bill. Clearly, his practise during the day had served him well. He had promised that he would find a job just as soon as he could, now that he believed his Mark to be secured and because they hadn’t seen any sign of magical disturbance to suggest that anyone had discovered them, or were even looking. 

“Maybe I’m just not important enough to search for,” Draco had said, hopefully, a butterfly prawn halfway to his lips. “I’m quite sure no one will miss me.”

“Your parents, surely?” she asked, surprised to see him grimace with what looked like angry reproach. 

“My father, as I told you, is off his head on magical opiates. Anything to ease the pain, I suppose. My mother is as much as she ever was, but she is impotent. She holds no sway or influence in the new world, ruled by the Dark Lord. Father made all the choices, good and bad, in our family.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, but he shrugged off her apology. 

“It is what it is.”

They made their way to the main high street, seeing the lights of the pub opposite shining brightly into the dark street, drinkers and smokers spilling out on the pavement, enjoying the mild June night air. 

“A quick one?” she asked, cocking her eyebrow towards the pub. 

“Are you trying to kill me? I’ve not drunk proper alcohol for so long, and that piss-poor wine was enough. Let’s get home to bed.”

“Now there’s an offer, Malfoy,” she teased, made bolder by the drink, despite being less pissed than he was. 

He swung around to face her, his hands resolutely in his pockets. 

“I would never take advantage of you, Orla,” he said, softly. 

“Do you mean that, or is that a convenient way to say you don’t fancy me?”

She pulled on his arm, knowing that she was being a little annoying, but slightly too tipsy to care. 

“Orla,” he warned, “please, don’t. You’re very vulnerable … everything that happened to you.”

“Just tell me. I can take it.”

Draco stopped walking, removed his hands from his pockets, and turned to face her. They’d stopped in front of the bakery next door to the flat, its windows empty and the shop in darkness. 

“Of course, I fancy you, that goes without saying. You look so much like me it’d be impossible not to,” he smirked, his familiar blue eyes glinting wickedly as he teased her, flicking the end of her blonde hair that so matched his own. 

“Narcissistic little shit,” she replied.

“You’ve heard of the Malfoys, haven’t you?” he drawled, inspecting and buffing his fingernails in a mock-arrogant fashion. 

“I have indeed. I just never liked one, until now.”

“You like me?”

“I’d hardly be here with you if I didn’t, asking you if you fancy me.”

“Oh. Shit. Well, that’s awkward.”

“Why?”

A pale burn, like a splintering ice-fire, lit in his eyes, and without warning, he took a gentle hold of her upper arms and backed her into the wall next to their front door, moving his face so close to hers that she could see every one of his pale blond eyelashes, so very long. 

“Because of this,” he whispered, lowering his head towards her slowly, as if giving her time to escape or push him away, before touching her lips lightly with his own, drawing a soft kiss from her that she couldn’t help but allow. 

The Malfoy lips were as soft as silk against her own, and she closed her eyes, allowing him to treat her mouth to a tentative, gradual kiss. Orla had no idea what the hell she was doing, for this certainly hadn’t been in the plan, but Merlin, it felt right. Safe.

Catcalls from the drinkers outside the pub opposite brought them to their senses, and he drew back a fraction, giving her the most beautiful, genuine smile she’d ever seen. 

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed, no words audible. 

“Don’t be.”

“I should be. I had no intention of taking advantage of you, Orla. I was quite content to keep my grubby little feelings to myself.”

“Hey, I asked you, remember? I practically forced you to admit you liked me,” she replied, sobering up lightning fast after that gorgeous kiss. 

“I do like you. But I know what’s been done to you and I have no wish to add to that hurt.”

His face was serious, and his eyes concerned. 

“Believe me, Draco, you might just turn out to be the best medicine. Let’s just take things really slowly and see what happens?”

“In that case, can I ask you out?”

She laughed, and he grinned in response. 

“I think since we’re living together, and probably just had our first proper date, I ought to say yes. Yes, Draco. Yes please.”

Orla was the one to lean forward this time, and press a light kiss to his lips. 

“Let’s go upstairs.”

“Lead the way.”

She unlocked the door, feeling it knock against the bottom stair, as it always did in the cramped hallway, and passed him the key to relock it as she started to walk up. Kicking off her boots, Orla jumped onto the bed since it was so much comfier than the sofa, and the hard binding of her notebook that Draco had been writing in earlier, poked her in the leg. She picked it up and fell open at a page that contained a stunning biro sketch of a dragon, the exact creature that was now tattooed on his left arm – he had copied it, and done a wonderful job of it. 

Just about to compliment him on his artistry as he walked into the room and began unlacing his trainers, no kicking off the shoes for Draco Malfoy, he was very precise, Orla turned the page, and found another dragon. A second turn found a curious-looking bird, perhaps some sort of hybrid with another creature, and just with a simple biro pen Draco had managed to create some amazing, multi-layered, plumage. 

“Did you do all these?” she asked, incredulous. 

“Well, I didn’t have anyone else over to visit, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I meant without magic.”

“Oh. Um, yeah. I did them. I like to doodle, I always did. I drew a lot as a child, you know, before Hogwarts.”

“Do you realise how amazing these are?”

“No?”

“If you can achieve this with a grotty old biro in a notebook, imagine what you could achieve with proper materials?”

He was silent, and looking at her as if he thought she were a little bit mad. Just a little. 

“When that Muggle was doing my tattoo,” he began, awkwardly, “I really enjoyed watching him, I wanted to have a go. I could produce that kind of design on paper, I wondered if I could do it on someone’s skin.”

“Why not go and ask? The worst that could happen is that he says no. The best is that he might see your work and offer to take you on. And you know … you have your wand if he needs convincing to take on a novice who walked in off the street with no vacancies advertised.”

“That’s how you got the job and the flat last year, wasn’t it?” he asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow. 

“Just a little Confunding is needed, occasionally.”

“You should have been a Slytherin, Orla Roach.”

“No thank you, I don’t want to hang around with all those slippery snakes.”

He stood at the end of the bed where she sat, and pulled her to standing, fixing her with those soulful, pale eyes. 

“Not even this snake?”

Orla slid her hands up his arms and around his neck, and enjoyed the look of pleasure that passed across his face, feeling his own arms encircle her lower back and pull her a little closer, still gentle, still slow. 

“There’s possibly this one snake I might make an exception for.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” he replied, his usually confident voice oddly croaky as he dipped his head to close the short distance between them, and those warm, soft lips were on hers again. 

-xxx-

Remus paced the floor of the Grimmauld Place bedroom, gently swaying as he walked his baby son around the room, the small blue head over his shoulder, patting his back to ease the hiccups that had started halfway through Teddy’s night time bottle. Teddy, however, was having none of this attention, and was roaring to be given the rest of his milk, despite the painful spasms that were causing his little tummy and throat to contract. 

It was a vicious circle. A hungry baby, but too distressed to feed. 

He felt tears of tiredness and frustration spring to his eyes as he continued his work, he knew what to do, however bloody knackered he was. Teddy had always been a colicky baby, right from the start, and he and Tonks had received plenty of advice on what to do – not all of it particularly helpful. Through trial and error, they had worked out that placing the baby over their shoulder and rubbing his back while pacing around (endlessly) eventually solved the problem. 

At least he no longer had to worry about being bored, stuck here at Grimmauld all day and all night. Teddy took up every second of time he had, and more, despite appearing to be asleep most of the time. How was that even possible? 

Remus felt a stab of guilt that Andromeda had been coping with her grandson alone for the last few weeks, taking on this relentless duty without a murmur of complaint, despite having just lost her husband and daughter in quick succession. But now it was time for him to step up and be a father, he owed that to Tonks and to Teddy, however much of a shit father he was currently being, unable to get his son to stop bloody hiccupping and therefore be able to drink the rest of the milk he was screaming for. 

Where are you, my love? 

He had no idea what had happened to his wife’s body and his heart screamed for her. Severus had alluded to the fact that the Death Eaters had purged the entire castle and its grounds of all corpses, but had refused to elaborate on what had actually happened. All those families, not just himself, denied the chance of a proper funeral, the chance to say a final goodbye to their loved ones who had been so cruelly taken away. 

I need you, Dora. 

Remus had no idea how he was going to parent this child by himself. Dora had been the strong one, the driving force of their relationship. If it had been left to him, she’d still be pining for him in the bowels of the Auror Office and he’d still be refusing to accept that she was in love with him, they certainly wouldn’t have been married, nor had a baby. 

All that wasted time. 

Had he taken his head out of his arse earlier; believed her many impassioned declarations of love, and stopped denying himself this wonderful witch because of his own shame, they could have had so much more time together. That was all his fault. 

Teddy began to quiet, perhaps sensing that his father’s attention was no longer focused entirely on him, thus allowing him to calm down and take some deeper breaths, which in turn began to ease the hiccups. Remus sat down in the old wooden rocking chair that must have belonged to Sirius’ mother, taking a perverse pleasure from using it, knowing how unhappy the old bag would have been, and offered Teddy the bottle, which he took gratefully, and finally began to suckle, drinking down the remainder of the milk that he’d wanted so desperately. 

There was no light in the room apart from the small Lumos that he’d cast from the end of his wand, which was resting on the old dresser, to give him just enough light to feed Teddy by before getting him settled back into his crib for the remainder of the night, after which Remus would climb back into the four-poster, the crib right by the side of his bed. 

The expansive bed would be cold and empty, like a particularly sharp and accurate metaphor for his life. What he wouldn’t give to have the warm, malleable body of his wife lying next to him, slipping a hand onto his bare, scarred chest as he moved in beside her, grateful that he had done the night feed to allow her to sleep. 

What a short time they’d had to parent together, just a few weeks. He felt a tear break free from his eye, dribble down his nose and splash onto Teddy, and he carefully wiped it away with the pad of his fingertip. Tears would not help his boy. Righteous anger would not bring his wife back. 

He’d never felt more hopeless in his entire life. 

-xxx-

Hermione was in bed, but not asleep, when the flames in her dormitory fireplace glowed green, and Professor Snape stepped with some difficulty through the small grate. The dormitory had felt cold and empty, when she had come up after a night in the common room with Seamus, not wanting to come upstairs alone, the sight of Parvati’s empty bed particularly painful. She’d washed and stripped, not bothering with pyjamas but snuggling herself under her bedcovers and blanket still naked, seeking not warmth but comfort. Her compulsion was grumbling in her stomach, and she hated it, wanting nothing more than to sleep herself into oblivion. 

He approached her bed and stood next to it, a low light coming from the single candle on her bedside cabinet and the glow from the little fireplace. Everything about him was dark, from his hair, to his eyes, to his clothes, yet she was not intimidated as he towered above her. 

“Can I assist you?” he asked, not making any further move towards her. 

“I don’t know,” she answered, in a small voice. 

Snape did not push her, and did not demand answers. 

“May I sit?”

She nodded, and he sat on the side of her bed, carefully checking her legs were not at risk of crushing before letting his full weight settle on the mattress. Then he simply sat, regarding her, for the longest time. Hermione pulled her arm out of the covers and reached for him, and he took her offered hand, just holding it. It was a curiously intimate gesture. 

“Are you compelled?” she asked. 

“Yes, a little, but nothing that cannot wait. I am more interested in seeing to your emotional needs at present.”

“I am fine,” Hermione replied, turning her head away.

“A girl commits suicide in your room, during the time you were elsewhere with me. I would suggest, Granger, that there is a high chance that you are not fine.”

His blunt and simple truth pinched a nerve, and she felt her face crumple. 

“It was so unfair! Parvati didn’t deserve to die like that.”

“Indeed, she did not. That is what we are fighting for. That is what all our plans, such as they are at present, are for.”

“I’m a terrible friend. She asked me not to go last night, she practically begged me to stay with her, and yet I still left!”

“Oh, Hermione. You need to look at yourself with better eyes than that. You cannot do everything for everybody. Each person needs to take responsibility for their own thoughts and deeds. As much as it pains you, Miss Patil had a choice, just as you have choices. We can each only make the choices we believe to be right.”

She mulled over his words, desperately wanting them to be true, but also believing that had she just stayed in the dormitory last night, then Parvati would not have done what she did. 

“And what of the next night?” he asked, with uncanny prescience. “And the night after that? Was your duty to stay with her every moment in case she made this choice, to stop her doing it again and again? Because eventually, my sweet girl, she would have succeeded, for you could not have been with her every second of every day.”

His words resonated with her in a painful but strangely comforting way. Severus Snape always spoke the absolute truth, on that she could rely. Hermione’s compulsion thrummed, with an impeccably bad sense of timing, and she pulled back the covers a little way. 

“Could you get in bed with me?”

Snape raised an eyebrow, but stood, taking the covers back a little further, and saw her naked breast. She saw him look, and was convinced that his own compulsion would have thrummed at the sight. 

“Without clothes,” she confirmed. 

Not breaking eye contact with her, he drew his wand and cast a Divesto over himself, leaving every stitch of his clothing on the floor next to her bed, before casting a security ward and silencing charm upon the dormitory door. His white body was delicately shadowed in the flickering light of the small fire, the soft light illuminating his numerous scars. Hermione suddenly felt an urgent need to run her fingers and tongue over all of them – every ridge, every whorl, every ropey, part-healed abrasion, and commit each one to memory, both by sight and touch. 

He turned back to her, where she was holding the covers up, and slipped underneath them, straight on top of her, since there was no room for him to lay by her side in the narrow single bed that was the same size and shape allocated to each and every Hogwarts student. The warmth and weight of his body was reassuring, the familiarity of his austere face looming above her was comforting. 

Severus felt the same way. Her soft body underneath him was rapidly starting to feel like coming home, not that he’d ever had much of a home life. 

“Take the feelings away, Severus,” she asked, and he’d guided himself to her entrance, feeling her already wet, no doubt due to the compulsion running through her. 

Whatever else happened, whatever choices they thought they had given themselves, the demands of the curse still had to be satisfied. He had been hard and semi-erect for the last hour, knowing that he would have to visit Miss Granger for relief, but feeling wretched about doing so. He wanted to offer her comfort, but instead he was gifting her with a quick and furtive fuck in her dormitory. 

He pushed inside her, slowly but firmly, opening her up as his cock pushed through her tight walls, all the way to the hilt, and she let out a slow moan that was both sadness and pleasure as he did so. He propped himself up on his forearms so their bodies were close, touching, and pulled back slowly, as if trying to draw out the sadness with his outstroke before sliding back in again, still torturously slowly, rolling against her, trying to convey every emotion in his fucking that his words could not. 

He filled her, and drew out. He filled her again, and dragged out again, never quite slipping from her completely, just gradually massaging her insides with the tenderness that he wanted to show her, but was not able to voice, not in their present situation, in their relative roles. She was not his lover, he was not allowed to comfort her that way. He could only do this, because they were compelled to do so. 

“It feels like you’re making love to me, Severus,” she murmured, her hands on his flanks, following his rolling, undulating movements. “Making love slowly, not just sex. I’m not sure … oh … if there is a difference, but it feels like it.”

She had him. 

“My desire is to provide for your needs,” he replied, not trusting himself to say anything more intimate, lest he embarrass himself. 

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek as he pushed in yet again, his back and shoulders moving up her body as he thrust slowly in, and he felt like screaming in pleasure as she ran her hands over the rippling cords of muscle in his back, muscles that we being strained by the leisurely pace he was setting, entering her slowly, holding himself over her. 

Little by little, bit by bit, he fucked them both higher, never speeding up, simply maintaining a languorous grind that soon had her gasping at every deep stroke. Severus felt her begin to tremble, a sure sign that her climax was imminent. 

“Release, my lover,” he urged, trying to keep a hold of his own control as the pressure in his balls built up with the burning desire to come inside her. “Your release, your orgasm, will help you let go of this hurt, I promise.”

Hermione moved her hands up to cup his face, running her hands over his unlovely features, stroking his high cheekbones, his large, hooked nose, tracing his thick, black eyebrows and running her fingertips across his lips. It was too intimate, and she’d have him sobbing like a fucking idiot if she kept up this level of tenderness. In a wicked world, he was unaccustomed to the gentleness. 

Severus caught hold of her hands and fixed them above her head, stretching her out like a cat, keeping his thrusts long and deep, but speeding them slightly, edging them nearer to orgasm, he could tell that she was close from the flush of her face, the dilation of her pupils and the slick fluid he could feel coating his cock. 

“Come inside me, Severus,” she begged, her eyes wide with arousal and focused solely on him. 

Her words astounded him, and clenching his teeth with the effort, he pushed himself towards orgasm, seeking hers, as if their combined release would wash away their sadness, and right the wrongs that had been done. 

As they came, their orgasms eerily silent and unspoken in this empty student dormitory, their dual release showing only in their bodies as they writhed and twisted, Severus watched the tears finally begin to fall from her eyes, flowing faster and heavier as she came, the ecstasy of her climax leaving her emotions raw and exposed. 

It was only when he saw a tear drop onto her cheek from a great height that he realised. 

He was weeping, also.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s nothing personal, Severus, he reminded himself. It’s not fucking personal, and you’d do well to remember that, you stupid bastard.

Severus let go of her hands that he’d been holding against the pillows above her head as he’d finished them both off, and Hermione immediately returned her searching hands to his face in the way that had so tugged at his heart, now catching the falling tears and wiping his cheeks with her thumbs.

“What is it?” she said, quietly, attending to his tears even though her own were still spilling from her eyes. 

He pulled his cock out of her gently, for it was still semi-hard, and sat back on his heels, scrubbing roughly at his face to rid it of the signs of weakness and lack of control that had sprung free during their unexpectedly emotional bout of lovemaking. 

“I am sorry,” he answered, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Dropping his foot to the cold floor, he stepped from her bed, reaching for his trousers and pulling them on, before picking up his shirt and doing up a few of the buttons, feeling an urgent need to cover to his nakedness in the light of the vulnerability he had just revealed.

Granger must have felt the same, as she sat up and pulled the covers across her body, holding them to her breasts, covering them. Her long, curly hair was tumbling wildly about her shoulders as she wiped the remains of her own tears from her eyes, and Severus couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she looked – innocent, yet knowing. He sat down next to her on the bed, as he had when he’d first entered the room. 

“Please forgive my lack of self-control,” he asked, resting a hand on her leg through the bedcovers. “I encouraged you to release your feelings, but did not expect to do the same myself.”

“That’s alright to do that, you know? I don’t mind. It’s not good to bottle things up. Do you want to talk about it?”

Giving a short, rueful, mirthless laugh, he shook his head. 

“There is nothing to be gained from me unburdening myself to you. You have more than enough on your plate at the present time, little witch. I believe it is sufficient that we are required to connect physically, without adding emotional dependency to an already potent mixture.”

She extended an arm from its position holding the covers, and reached for his hand. 

“I don’t mind.”

Severus stared at her, thinking how easy it would be to just talk, to sit here all night on her little bed and really talk, talk about everything that had happened, and all that he feared would still come to pass, but he would not give her that great burden of responsibility. 

“I am sure you do not, but I do. Our lives are already becoming too interwoven as it is. Your own heightened reaction at climax forced a similar emotion in myself, let us leave it at that. I thank you for your … for your tenderness. It is not something with which I am terribly familiar.”

Her fingers were clasping the top of his hand, and her little thumb was tracing small circles on his palm, just that one tiny movement causing him great pangs of want, of need. What he wouldn’t give for a witch like this of his very own, a witch he could keep, who would certainly not be a student, and twenty years younger than him. The whole notion was of course ridiculous, since he had never entertained any kind of relationship, not even in his youth. His life had been a series of sexually fulfilling but emotionally unsatisfying encounters, and he had presumed this was his lot. Damn this girl for making him want for things that he had long ago accepted would never be his. 

Rising to his feet and reluctantly letting go of her hand, he pushed his feet into his boots without socks, and summoned the rest of his discarded clothing into his arms. 

“I should go. Sleep well, Miss Granger.”

She nodded in response, and he turned back towards the fireplace, stepping through to his office, where he immediately dropped everything he was holding and sank into one of his fireside armchairs, shaking badly. 

Hermione Granger was getting under his skin in the worst way. Not only was he compelled to sexually seek her out to avoid a fast descent into insanity, not only was she one of his few allies against the dictatorship of the Dark Lord, but she was also provoking desires in him that he was emotionally ill-equipped to cope with. 

Every time he told himself that it was purely the compulsion driving her, that her phenomenal mind had simply come up with the best solution for them to live with the edicts of the curse, her tender touches and her eyes full of emotion attempted to prove otherwise. He briefly wondered whether it was better to defy the curse and die from sexual desperation than this slow takeover of his rational mind. 

It’s nothing personal, Severus, he reminded himself. It’s not fucking personal, and you’d do well to remember that, you stupid bastard. 

Hermione sat upright in bed for a few moments after Professor Snape had left, looking around the empty room and missing his large presence as soon as he’d been swallowed up by the green flames of the Floo connection. 

His insanely tender lovemaking had been just that, it wasn’t a quick fuck, he had quite assiduously made exquisite love to her, his thrusts deep and slow, building such a devastating climax inside her that she’d actually been moved to tears by the strength of it. True, she had no other experience, but she wasn’t stupid, and had heard enough conversations about sex to know that what had just happened had been rather special. 

Yes, she was grieving, but this had been more than that. It had felt as if Snape were telling a story through his endless black eyes, comforting her with the solid weight of his body, drawing out her sadness with his sexual skill, leaving her emotionally unwound and desperate for more. 

And yet he had run. 

You are a fool, Hermione, she chastised herself. 

Professor Snape had entered her dormitory to attend to the compulsion, as they’d agreed, and she’d allowed herself to be swept away in the sensuality of the moment, combining it with her own neediness like a lovesick idiot, forgetting he was her professor - her superior, and not a devastatingly dark wizard with whom she was having a torrid affair of the heart. 

In truth, she was most likely the bane of his existence, with all the responsibilities and stress he was currently under. She would do well to remember that. 

-xxx-

Orla woke to the summer sunlight peeking around the edges of the thick curtains, lightening the room, and a smile came to her face almost instantly. She was in her pyjamas, and Draco was wearing the t-shirt and undershorts he’d been wearing since they arrived – they really ought to go out today and buy him some basic items to wear. 

He had been a complete gentleman the previous night, and truth be told, she would probably have allowed him to take more than he had. They had kissed in the middle of the room, before taking it in turns to use the bathroom and get changed for bed. By mutual agreement; there had been more kissing in bed, Draco threading his hands through her long, white-blonde hair as he treated her mouth to his lips again, in such a gentle way that Orla had felt desired, aroused and comfortable all at the same time. 

She’d felt his erection against her stomach, through his thin undershorts, but at the accidental touch he had planted a final kiss to her forehead and bid her goodnight, turning on to his back, but keeping a foot pressed against her, and had sought out her hand to hold. 

At some point during the night, Draco had spooned behind her, his chest pressed against her back, and his tattooed arm thrown across her. She examined the impressive ink, fully healed, looking at the dragon curled around his forearm, and couldn’t help but touch it, running her fingertips over the design. 

“That’s morning, then, is it?” he asked, directly against her ear. 

“Even better,” she replied, smiling, “it’s Saturday morning, meaning no work for me today.”

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, and she felt the unmistakeable prod of his morning wood against her lower back. 

“I’m sorry,” he coughed, moving back and creating some distance between them. 

Orla quickly flipped over and faced him, putting her arm over him before he could get too far away from her. 

“It’s fine, Draco. If it wasn’t, I would tell you, okay?”

He looked conflicted. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be the biggest cunt that ever lived, taking advantage of you after … you know … after what you’ve been though. I would never hurt you, Orla. Ever.”

“I believe that,” she whispered, leaning forward and dropping a soft kiss on his lips. “And I would never have thought that I’d be ready for … anything, so soon. But it seems that trust and companionship are great healers. I’m surprised too, but … I really like you, Draco Malfoy.”

The smile that slowly curled his mouth was beautiful, with a slight edge of seductiveness that stopped it from being too saccharine. There was a danger in his eyes that she couldn’t help but admit that she found hopelessly attractive. He closed the distance between them and began to kiss her properly, in that seeking, gentle way he had last night. There was no doubt Malfoy was a damn good kisser, and Orla tried her best to not wonder who he had kissed before, as the faces of the Slytherin girls danced through her mind. 

“We need to get you some clothes today,” she told him, when they came up for air, and he frowned. 

“Please don’t tell me you have been thinking of shopping while I was kissing you?”

Oops. She wouldn’t tell him that what she’d actually been thinking of was smacking Pansy Parkinson in the face for ever having the gall to kiss Draco, and the clothes thing had just popped out. 

“I’m sorry. Mind going too fast.”

She blushed. 

“It’s fine,” he grinned, “I need to get up anyway, got a visit to pay to a certain tattoo parlour, haven’t I? You stay in bed, me and my wand will go and see what we can conjure up in the way of a job, and then we’ll go out for the day. Lunch and clothes shopping?”

“I have no doubt that your skill with a Confundus charm is strong,” she replied, “and yes, good plan. Sounds great.”

And it really did. 

-xxx-

Two days later, Snape was at the head table in the Great Hall during dinner, a table which was thankfully free from Death Eaters since they had been summoned by Voldemort earlier that evening, and he had already been pre-warned that he need not attend. 

The majority of the teaching staff were still openly hostile to him since they did not know of his true loyalties, and McGonagall and Sprout were simply ambivalent, since they did. None of them could yet reveal themselves to the rest of the staff before a concrete plan was in place, and as yet, they had still drawn a blank on their first hurdle of killing the fucking snake. 

That could change tonight, however. He had received an owl earlier that day, the same one that had advised him not to attend the summons with the rest of the Death Eaters, but instead instructed that upon their immediate return, Severus was to come to the Little Hangleton manor for a private audience with the Dark Lord. 

Perhaps Nagini would be roaming free as the house would be empty. Snape had secreted two Basilisk fangs in the folds of his cloak, wondering if he would get the opportunity to stick it to the bastard reptile. 

However, not only would he have to murder the snake, but he’d also have to do without Voldemort seeing him, which seemed unlikely. If he was caught doing it, and managed to escape before an Avada was cast upon him, he would have to go into hiding, since he would of course not be able to return to Hogwarts, leaving the castle exposed and unprotected. The futility of the tenuous plan was all too evident, but at present, it was all they had. 

The doors to the Great Hall swung open, and the returning Death Eaters stomped into the hall like a band of black wraiths, leaving their masks on for maximum effect upon the students, most of whom shrunk back into their seats in fear. They marched up the central aisle, removing their masks as they approached the top table. Snape had already left his chair and was preparing to leave for his own meeting, but was stopped by Macnair. 

“Not so fast, Headmaster,” he drawled, unpleasantly. “We are instructed to tell you that you must bring the Mudblood with you, tonight. The Dark Lord has requested to see her.”

Severus’ heart plummeted to his boots so fast that he thought he might vomit up the small amount of dinner that he’d been able to eat, knowing that a meeting was imminent. Noting Minerva’s shocked expression, which he attempted to ignore, despite the rising panic in his gut, he merely nodded, shuttering his emotions behind a neutral gaze, before sweeping out from behind the table and down the aisle towards the door, stopping at the end of the Gryffindor table where Miss Granger sat.

“Granger. Come.”

“Where are you taking her?” shouted Finnigan, jumping to his feet in protection of his friend. 

“That’s not really your concern, is it, Finnigan?” he replied, smoothly, gesturing his hand impatiently for Granger to leave her seat and accompany him. 

“It is my concern if you’re going to hurt her!”

“I suggest you do not make things any worse for yourself than they already are,” he advised, trying to avoid any possible punishment for the hot-headed Gryffindor, who was already a favourite target of the Carrows. “Granger, now.”

Hermione swung her legs over the bench and stood up, standing meekly beside him. How it pained him to do this, to treat her this way! How uncharacteristic it was for this outstanding young witch to be so passive, so subservient, and he had a horrible feeling that it was just about to get worse, since he’d been ordered to bring her before the Dark Lord. 

Severus swept around and continued walking, jerking his head to indicate that she should follow him, ignoring the salacious catcalls from the Death Eaters, who had no shame at openly declaring where he was going before the gathered children in the Great Hall. He despised every last one of the bastards and would happily dance on their graves. 

He walked her out of the front doors and into the grounds, towards the Apparition point outside the front gates, despite not needing to. He needed to warn her, to prepare her, before he took her to the Riddle House. 

“I have been ordered to bring you before the Dark Lord,” he advised, his face grim at the sight of the shock and horror on hers. “I know not why he wishes to see you, but remember, he believes that you are under my complete control, and I will have to act as such.”

“I understand, Sir,” she replied, earnestly, trotting along beside him, trying to meet his fast pace with her shorter legs. 

“Do you really understand, Granger? The Dark Lord is a deviant, he craves pain and humiliation. I am already in trepidation of how I shall be forced to act, and of what may happen to you.”

“Just do what needs to be done.”

He winced. She had used the same words when suggesting they fuck voluntarily to counter the curse. Did she count both him and Voldemort in the same column? He fervently hoped not. 

“Everything I do, every action I take, will be working towards returning here with you unharmed after the meeting. Remember that. Do as I tell you, exactly as I tell you. Remember, the man I will be tonight is not truly me, it is a role I am forced to play. Be silent, keep your eyes to the floor, and do not speak unless spoken to, however much you might be tempted to. 

She nodded, and he already hated himself. 

“In addition. It was my original plan to make an attempt on the snake’s life tonight, since I am to be there alone, and I wondered if Nagini may be allowed to roam free since the house is empty.”

He reached into his cloak and pulled out one of the two Basilisk fangs he had concealed there. 

“These are the fangs that you gave me, weeks ago. I have one, and here is the other. I appreciate that it seems unlikely, but if either of us get the chance to pierce the snake with one, we need to do it.”

She slipped the fang inside her cloak and appeared to gather her nerve. 

“It’s probably better if I do it, Sir, since if Voldemort sees you kill his snake, then he’ll be after you, too. I’m already a threat. So, if I do it, and don’t die in the attempt, I’ll Apparate to Grimmauld Place and hide there. Don’t worry about me.”

Her voice was shaky, and he suspected she was far more scared than her words would suggest. They had reached the Apparition point and were now the other side of the gates, and he turned to face her. 

“What about your exams? They are in less than a fortnights’ time.”

“I was told long ago that I need to sort out my priorities and get some perspective in life. I think I’ve finally learned why.”

“You truly are a brave lion.”

“I broke out of Gringotts on the back of a Ukrainian Ironbelly. This should be simple,” she replied, her deathly-pale face in stark contradiction to her confident words. 

“I am with you,” was his only reply, and he indicated for her to take his arm, as he touched the tip of his wand to the centre of his Dark Mark. 

-xxx-

Strangely, Voldemort bade Severus to sit down, rather than bow, as soon as he entered the now lavishly decorated lounge room at the Riddle House, and it made him feel uncomfortable and wrongfooted as he seated himself in the large armchair opposite the chilling, barely-human wizard who was the cause of all that was currently wrong with the world. 

“Your toy can sit with you, of course, Severus,” Voldemort hissed, indicating that Granger should sit on his lap, which would present a problem since it was now nearly two full days since they had last been intimate, and the proximity would no doubt trigger both their compulsions. 

Fuck. 

Snape had known he would need to seek her out tonight for assistance with his needs, but had hoped it would be in privacy rather than before this psychotic deviant. How quickly could he get her out of here and back to his chambers? It added a rather inconvenient tangent their already jam-packed agenda of seeing off the Dark Lord, as well as killing his final, very alive, Horcrux. He began to feel despair seep into his bones as Granger seated herself upon his lap, and he could feel the warmth of her arse cause a shot of pleasure straight to his groin. 

“I am glad you brought her.”

“You instructed me to do so, My Lord. I should never presume to disobey you.”

“You are a good and faithful servant, Severus. I am pleased that this boon has been granted to you. However, I need information from her. Instruct her that she may speak with me.”

“Look up, Mudblood. You have been given the great honour of addressing the Dark Lord.”

Severus placed one hand on her thigh, possessively, and with his other hand he roughly tilted her chin up to face Voldemort. He noted that she wore not her usual defiant expression, but looked meek and scared, and he hated it. 

“How may I assist you, Sir?” Granger asked him, her voice trembling. 

“The other Mudblood. Where is she?” he demanded. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Sir.”

“But, why not?”

“Orla Roach and I were not close friends. We did not have lessons together, and we have only spoken a handful of times,” she answered, truthfully, watching Voldemort consider her answer. 

“Is she with Draco Malfoy?”

“I do not know. I only know that Orla was gifted to Professor Yaxley, as I am to Professor Snape. I do not know if she was friends with Malfoy.”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes as if he did not believe her answer, but was disinclined to question her further. If he’d really wanted to know, he could have used Legilimency, but had opted not to do so. Why?

Granger shifted awkwardly on his lap, and he could feel the heat from her core upon his thigh. Shit, she wasn’t compelled, was she? From the time she had begged him to attend her urgently in the Gryffindor common room, he knew that her compulsion was less frequent than his own, but worsened faster. 

The hideous smirk on the equally hideous face opposite confirmed his fears. 

“Your little toy is agitated, Severus. No doubt you will wish to address this.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” he replied, making a move to leave the chair, thinking Nagini would have to wait another day. 

“Sit, Severussss. You misunderstand me. I have much still to discuss with you. You may deal with your Mudblood here where you sit, in front of me.”

He felt Granger’s muscles tense, and her quiet cry of, No!

“Silence,” he commanded, hating himself. “Lay back, and do not interrupt the Dark Lord with your slavering cries.”

She meekly lay back against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder and turning it away from him as he pulled her skirt up to her hips and pushed her thighs apart, slipping two long fingers under her knickers and beginning to stroke her outer labia. He could feel her heat from here, the girl was most definitely compelled. 

“She is compliant, Severus.”

“She is, My Lord.”

“She enjoys your touch?”

“As you can see,” he smirked, snaking a finger down to her vagina to see if she was dampening. 

“Whilst you attend to her, let us continue. You have already told me that you have no news of Draco Malfoy and the other Mudblood, but would you agree that they are most likely together? It seems improbable that both would have absconded, undetected on the same day, separately.”

“I agree, My Lord. Wherever they are, I would dare to presume that they are together.”

“How can we find them?”

“You have already tasked all Death Eaters with searching for Malfoy. I have no doubt that they are giving top priority to your wishes.”

As he spoke, he sank two fingers inside the girl, causing her to make a tiny squeak of pleasured surprise as he twisted them around, burrowing between her cleft with his thumb and seeking her clit, flicking the soft bud in a strumming motion, making her gasp. 

“You cannot keep her quiet, Severus?”

“Only with a silencing charm, My Lord, however I find that I enjoy her cries. However, if she disturbs you, I shall apply one.”

“It is of no matter.”

“You are very generous.”

“Lord Voldemort is always benevolent, as you know. Show her to me.”

“It would please you if I exposed the Mudblood before you?”

He nodded, a revoltingly lascivious look in his snake-like eyes. The filthy deviant knew that Granger had no knowledge of the whereabouts of or relationship between Malfoy and Roach. This was what he wanted. Clearly, they were to be his entertainment this evening. 

“Show me her dirty cunt, Severus.”

“As you wish.”

Granger let out a small noise of protest and turned her head further away as Snape pulled the seat of her knickers to one side, sickened at thought of revealing something so perfect before someone so wholly unworthy. He removed his fingers from inside her channel and took a gentle hold of her labia, pulling them slowly apart to show the Dark Lord everything he wanted to gape at. Out of all the things he had been obliged to do this girl, this was by far the worst, the most degrading. 

“The Mudblood's filthy cunt is soaking wet, already, Severus. My gift of the compulsion is surely working for you?”

“It certainly is,” he replied, applying his pointer finger to Granger’s clit and beginning to circle and rub the sensitive nub, trying not to block Voldemort’s view with his own hands. “I find her wet and ready for me whenever I have need of her.”

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, massaging his own cock through his silky robes. 

“When will she spend? I desire to see.”

“It does not usually take her very long. She is rather fond of my hands and fingers.”

Severus continued to flicker his finger against Hermione’s clit as he felt her hips begin to move in arousal, despite the horrendousness of the situation. Voldemort continued to ask him questions about Draco Malfoy, and whether he thought that Lucius Malfoy may be covertly shielding his son, whilst never taking his perverted eyes from Granger’s open cunt, which was leaking her sweet fluid over his fingers that were holding her open to the Dark Lord’s gaze. 

He had to make her come quickly, to end this humiliation, since Voldemort would not allow her to close her legs until he had seen her climax, so the least time she spent in this position, the better. He added another finger to her clitoris, masturbating the bud around in a circle, pulling it this way and that, forcing her unwilling orgasm closer.

Voldemort was breathing heavily, jiggling at his own cock, all pretence of conversation forgotten in his desire to watch the Mudblood spend in the lap of his faithful puppet headmaster. 

Severus vanished Granger’s knickers to free the fingers that were holding them to the side, and used his now available hand to tickle her arsehole, knowing how hard she had come when he’d touched it previously. He had to finish this, and soon. 

The young witch gasped involuntarily, pressing her hips upwards as he played with her puckered rear end whilst frigging her clit, hard and fast. She was nearly there, he knew it. A few more strokes and her humiliation would hopefully be over.

“I think your little Mudblood is about to come for us, Severus," Voldemort leered, leaning forward as if he would get a better view that way. 

“Indeed, she is, My Lord. Come on, girl, show the Dark Lord how you spend from my touch. It is your privilege to have him observe you."

Granger let out a cry of frustration as she succumbed to his relentless masturbation and came hard, jerking her hips up and down against the rapid movement of his fingers, which he then slipped down to her vagina and held it open wide, pulling her soft labia apart so that Voldemort could see her hot little hole opening and closing with the force of her orgasm, dripping arousal fluid, desperate to be filled.

Oh, please, he thought, suddenly. Please, don’t make me to do that to her here, in front of you, you deviant bastard. 

Voldemort got to his feet and took a step towards them. Hermione was still splayed on his lap, his erect cock pressing against her back, and her face turned resolutely away. The Dark Lord leaned forward and dropped his hand towards Granger’s open pussy, wiping his finger around her wet hole and helping himself to a swipe of her dripping juice. Granger screamed in pain. 

“The hex works too, I see?” Voldemort smirked as he sat back in his chair, licking his wet finger with a snake-like tongue. “That will assist you, Severus, since if her cunt is touched by another wizard, or by her own hand, the stinging hex will remind her exactly to whom she belongs.”

“Thank you, My Lord. It has proved a most useful addition.”

“Now, you must be suffering yourself, Severus, due to her incessant writhing, so let her relieve you. Orally, I think, so that I may observe her skill in pleasuring you.”

I hate you, Tom Riddle. 

“You heard the Dark Lord, Mudblood. On your knees before me.”

As he unfastened the lower half of his coat and unzipped his trousers, Snape was suddenly relieved that they had done this once before and that Granger was not a complete novice at oral sex. It was no great debasement for him to have his cock out before the Dark Lord, for he was well-endowed, and revels were notorious for the obligatory group sex and mutual masturbation, he’d seen far more of his fellow Death Eater’s genitals, both male and female, than he would ever wish to. 

Severus sent a discreet wandless and non-verbal cushioning charm to the floor to protect her knees, and another, more unusual charm that would temporarily widen the inside of her throat so that she would be able to take more of his penis inside her mouth, for the Dark Lord would insist on her doing it properly, and he had no wish to choke the girl. There was no way she would be able to fit his full length in her mouth. 

As she knelt before him, her back to Voldemort, she met his eyes, and what he saw there shattered his heart into a million pieces. 

It was trust. 

It wasn’t fear, or anger, or humiliation – it was simply an understanding, complicit trust in what he was leading her to do. He forced his own countenance to remain neutral. 

As his cock thrummed with the compulsion and his heart broke with the force of his guilt, Severus realised that he had badly underestimated his true feelings for this girl. His desire to protect her was so strong, that to see her in this position, degraded and at Voldemort’s mercy, was causing him physical pain. 

Her lips folded around his cock as if she’d done it a thousand times before. The hit of pleasure did nothing to take away the pain in his heart, but he simply needed to do as she had, to achieve his orgasm so that they would be free to go. 

Roughly grabbing a handful of her curly hair to guide her movements, he was horrified to see Voldemort slide his silky black robes up to his hips, revealing his scaly white legs along with the fact that he wore no underwear. He moved his long-fingernailed hand to his bared crotch and began to masturbate to the sight of Severus receiving a forced blow-job. 

The Dark Lord never disrobed himself during a revel, preferring to watch the exploits of his loyal followers and their captives. Severus, to his extreme disgust, now saw why. 

Tom Riddle’s cock looked malformed, as if something had gone wrong during his transition back to a corporeal body. It was like a squat mushroom stuck to his groin, which was completely smooth, no pubic hair whatsoever. Severus struggled not to vomit as Voldemort began to flick it with one finger, as it was not large enough for him to grasp with his hand. It looked like a tiny snail coming out of its wrinkled little shell. No wonder he kept it tightly under wraps. 

Not daring to close his eyes, since anyone who did so in front of the Dark Lord was either suicidal or inordinately stupid, he looked down at Granger, sucking on his own cock in a blissfully tugging rhythm, holding his trousers open with her hands. If only they were in the privacy of his office, or bedchamber, and this succubus was gifting such pleasure upon him, it would be a transcendent experience. 

Instead it was dirty – soiled by the odious presence and orders of a deformed madman. 

He chanced a look up, and Riddle was masturbating in his strange, flickering fashion, jolting the blob of pale flesh that passed for a cock, breathing heavily with a strange rasping noise coming from his partly-open mouth. Severus looked away. He did not wish to see this. 

As he wrenched his eyes from Voldemort, they darted instantly towards the door, alerted by a small movement. The door was opening. Who the fuck was here? He was instantly on high alert, and Granger felt it, as her eyes shot up towards him, full of alarm and questions. 

The door only opened a small way, not enough to admit a person, but it didn’t need to. A giant snake came slithering through the gap, moving herself noiselessly across the floor towards her master, who was far too absorbed in chasing his own orgasm to notice the entrance of his familiar. 

Severus felt in his cloak for the Basilisk fang.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dirty slut.”
> 
> “Headmaster’s pet cunt.”
> 
> “Mudblood filth.”

Severus covertly flicked his eyes between Voldemort, the snake, and the little student who was currently doing far too good a job of sucking his cock. As his fingers closed around the Basilisk fang in his cloak, he realised this was going to be a supreme test of his control. To commit murder whilst in the middle of receiving a blow-job? Well, that would be a new one, even for him, despite every foul act he had done in the past, and been forced to do in the present. 

Nagini swept her immense, heavy body across the polished wooden floor and approached her master with a speed that belied her size. Her pointed head lifted as she mounted the arm of the chair in which he was seated, and slithered across his pathetic excuse for a cock, causing his eyes to roll back in his head with apparent pleasure. 

If Severus wasn’t feeling nauseous before, he certainly was now. 

Voldemort’s eyes snapped into focus, and he regarded Snape with jealousy and suspicion. 

“Enough,” he commanded, petting the snake who was now gently writhing in his lap, presumably providing her master with sexual pleasure. “I tire of you exhibiting yourself before me, Severus, thoughtlessly parading the very thing I am yet unable to participate in.”

“Certainly, My Lord. Up, girl. Remove yourself from me,” he told Granger sharply, lifting her mouth roughly from his weeping erection. “Stand.”

She stood up, wiping her mouth and looking more demeaned, frightened and subservient than he had ever seen her. He hoped that this was all only an act for the Dark Lord, and that what he’d been forced to do to her had not genuinely broken her spirit. He remained in the chair and dropped his hands to his trousers in order to put himself away and refasten them, but Voldemort stopped him.

“Leave it, Severus. Allow me to gaze upon what I wish to be mine.”

Snape allowed the snake-faced tyrant to stare at his cock, reddened by Granger’s attentions, and still partly hard from the nagging of the unsatisfied compulsion. The silence in the room became thick with tension, there was no sound to be heard apart from Nagini shuffling herself on the deformed groin of the Dark Lord in what was clearly a well-practised manner, whilst Voldemort looked enviously at his own, generous penis, and Severus hoped that he would not have to witness Riddle’s completion in such a repulsive set-up. 

Several minutes passed, and Voldemort seemed to be no nearer climax than he’d been previously. Snape wondered whether he was even capable of it. During revels the Dark Lord only watched, never participated. Chancing a look to his right, he saw that Granger was reaching under her cloak, obviously thinking that the time was right to take out the snake, and she was most likely correct, while the creature and Voldemort were both distracted. As they’d agreed, it was better to let her do it, so that he could remain in place at the school. Once the snake was out of the picture, Voldemort would be as mortal as any other wizard. 

However, the Dark Lord missed nothing. Even in his state of arousal, there was something making him suspicious. Either that or he was embarrassed at the time it was taking him to come. 

“Leave me! You are to return yourself and Mudblood to Hogwarts. The next time I summon her before me, I wish to see how you have progressed in turning her talents towards the Dark. She has entertained me tonight, and has bought herself more time with her willing acquiescence. At our next meeting, I expect her to be ready to join us.”

“I understand, My Lord. I shall leave you.”

He stood, leaving his trousers open since he had not been instructed otherwise, taking a rough hold of Granger’s arm in order to Apparate them back to the castle. 

“The Mudblood may bid me good evening,” Voldemort hissed, holding out a pale hand. 

“Go forward and kneel, and consider yourself fortunate that you have been gifted the compliment of kissing the Dark Lord’s hand,” Severus commanded her, giving her a push in that direction and advising her exactly what she was expected to do. 

Granger walked over to his chair and knelt by his proffered hand, taking a distasteful hold of it and dropping her lips to the white, scaly flesh. Quick as a flash, Voldemort pulled his hand from hers and grabbed her chin, forcing it upwards, and stroking her face with his revoltingly long fingernails. 

“You appear to be an obliging Mudblood, girl. Clearly you are not stupid, you understand and respect the authority of your superiors. I look forward to seeing … even more of you than I have tonight. You have done well, Severus. Now take her and go forth to your own evening of entertainment.”

Not allowing for any more pauses, Snape grabbed her arm and twisted into a jerky Apparition, desperate to get them both out of this hideous place. They landed inside his office, by the window, looking out on the castle grounds, which were lit a dark orange by the slowly setting sun. 

Hermione breathed hard, forcing air into her lungs where she had been holding her breath before Voldemort, desperately trying not to say anything wrong, or get them into any worse trouble. She had been so humiliated at being exposed in that manner, but really, did it matter in the grand scheme of things? She hadn’t been tortured, she hadn’t even been hurt. The evening had been about degradation and control, seeing how far she could be pushed before breaking. 

A long way, you evil snake, she thought. Just try me. 

Professor Snape was standing beside her, breathing just as heavily, suffering the indignity of having his penis hanging out of his trousers. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who had been humiliated tonight, and he must still be suffering with the compulsion, since he had stopped her from sucking him before he had reached his own orgasm. 

She turned towards him, and extended a tentative hand towards his erection, stroking the soft skin over the semi-hard core, feeling it lurch into her hand with desperation. He grabbed her hand instantly and covered it, although he did not remove it.

“No. You do not have to do this.”

“I do. The compulsion demands it.”

“Not after everything you have suffered tonight.”

“Your suffering was equal to mine,” she replied, beginning to slide her hand up and down his shaft that was hardening beneath her fingers, despite his protestations. 

“Granger,” he warned. “If you do not desist your actions, I must warn you that I am not in the mood to be gentle. It is taking all of my control not to spin you around and fuck you up against this window.”

She looked up at him, trying to convey as much honesty and acceptance as she could with her eyes, knowing that words were not always the best way to get through to the headmaster. 

“I mean it,” he said, quietly. 

Turning around, she knelt on the padded window seat, leaning her elbows and forearms on the stone window ledge, looking out at the beautiful grounds, backlit by the sunset. 

“For fuck’s sake, Granger.”

Snape let out a loud groan of resolution, and she felt him flip her skirt up over her bare bottom and tuck it into the waistband, the same way he had when he’d spanked her. He gripped her arse cheeks with both hands, spreading them open and stroking over her open pussy with what must be his thumbs. He was dappling in her wetness which was still leaking from her orgasm at his hands only a short while previously, and he groaned again, even louder, when he discovered how sopping wet and ready for him she was. 

Hermione felt the bump of his hand against her as he guided his penis to her entrance and then the hard clench on either side of her hips as he pushed all the way inside, causing her to release her own moan of pleasure. 

“You are too much, little witch, do you hear me?” he growled, starting to pump into her in a fast, desperate rhythm. “You stand before the Dark Lord without fear, then present your deliciously wet cunt for me to fuck? You are a succubus, a temptation, and you are too bloody much, too good for the likes of me.”

His words, as they always did, stoked her arousal higher, hearing the filthy ramblings drip from his usually so severe, taciturn controlled mouth – that same voice that had lectured her in the classroom for years now spilling such secrets of his sexual desire, and it made her stomach turn over in the most delicious way. 

Snape’s large hands were gripping her hips so tightly that she would certainly be left with bruises there, not that she cared. Her knees were comfortable on the soft cushion of the window seat, the stone window ledge providing enough resistance for him to thrust against, and thrust he did, huffing and puffing and exclaiming as he fucked her most thoroughly. 

Hermione felt one of his hands slide across to the base of her spine, right on her coccyx, and push down, which tilted her channel upwards and allowed the angle of his thrusting to change. He pushed a fingertip into her back passage and agitated it around, and she felt herself begin to climax, much to her own surprise, but it was as if he were learning to read her body like one of the many textbooks he appeared to know off by heart. 

“Fuck, Granger, are you coming?” he gasped, bashing his hips against her bum as his penis ground roughly inside her. “I can’t … when you come around my cock … I just can’t hold …”

His roar of release was louder than she’d ever heard, and she felt the jets of warm come bathe her insides, and he continued to growl and groan as if in physical or emotional pain. 

The heavy door of the headmaster’s office burst open, she heard it crash against the wall with a dull, wooden thud, and then the entrance of several pairs of booted feet. 

“How dare you enter this office without knocking?” Snape demanded, his voice remarkably smooth and dripping with angry threat, rather than shouting. It had always been a chillingly effective tactic in the classroom. 

“You’re finished, aren’t you?” came a mocking voice that she recognised to be the odious Walden Macnair. 

“What did we interrupt, your post-coital cuddling time?” 

That was a female voice – Alecto Carrow. Bitch. 

Snape drew out of her so quickly that she felt empty, and their combined juices slid down her thighs. 

“Get up, girl,” he instructed, roughly. 

Hermione stood up, untucking the back of her skirt from the waistband and turning around, to see that Snape had remained standing behind her to avoid the intruding Death Eaters from getting any view of her open genitals. 

“Get out. I am finished with you for the evening.”

It was only acting, she told herself. He would never treat her like this, otherwise. However, it was no less humiliating to do the walk of shame across his large, echoing office, through the crowd of jeering Death Eaters who had all just seen what they believed to be her being raped, up against the window seat. She dropped her head and looked at the floor, although every part of her wanted to hold her head high, to show that she was not ashamed. 

“Dirty slut.”

“Headmaster’s pet cunt.”

“Mudblood filth.”

The insults were hissed at her as she passed through the throng at the door. Thankfully, as Professor Snape was there, none of them would risk laying a hand on her. She edged past, trying not to touch any of them inadvertently, and then broke into a run as she reached the bottom of the spiral staircase. 

She needed to get back to Gryffindor Tower, and to a hot shower, both for the mess caused by their activities, and for the burning humiliation in her head that needed to be washed away. 

It wasn’t until she was in the shower that Hermione remembered they hadn’t even managed to kill that damn snake. 

-xxx-

They had slipped into a blissfully domestic routine over the last fortnight, mostly unspoken, it had simply evolved into a daily life that they both seemed content with. And content was a welcome relief after the months of torment they had experienced.

Her boyfriend had indeed been able to Confund the owner of the tattoo parlour into taking him on as an apprentice, using his scribbled drawings as his portfolio and admitting he had never tattooed before. The large, bearded man – Dave – was teaching Draco his craft, as well as getting him to produce new sketches and designs for the folders of ideas they kept in the shop. 

Draco drew inspiration from the wizarding world, and already his magical designs were proving popular, especially the dragons and family crests. Of course, Muggles would not know what they represented, or that they were in fact real. 

Orla started work earlier than Draco, since the tattoo parlour opened and closed later than the pharmacy, which kept regular hours. She would leave him sleeping, especially if he’d been working a late night, and then later in the morning, usually around eleven, he would stop off at the pharmacy with a takeaway coffee or tea for her, dropping it in with a kiss before making his way to the tattoo parlour two streets away. 

Brenda was quite bowled over with the charm of Orla’s ‘young man’, and never missed an opportunity to tell her how lucky she was. Orla would smile to herself, thinking of how much the older woman did not know. 

When the pharmacy closed at five, Orla would nip upstairs and make a sandwich in the flat before heading back down again to take it across to Draco, who would usually be taking a late lunch at about that time. The early evening was her own, and she’d shower and change, depending on whether he would be home late, or if he finished early they would often go to the pub, or out for dinner. 

With both their wages, the rent on the meagre flat was much more manageable, and rather than upgrade to a bigger one, they decided to stay put and use their spare money to enjoy a social life outside. The studio flat had everything they needed, since they shared everything, so why waste their hard-earned money?

They were now regulars in the pub across the road, although Draco was still teased by the older men regarding his low tolerance for Muggle alcohol. Their favourite restaurant was the Chinese where they’d had their first ‘date’, swiftly followed by the Italian and the Indian. 

“Does no one eat English food in England?” he had asked, bemused, and she’d laughed, promising to take him for a slap-up full roast dinner at the local carvery on Sunday. 

Evenings and nights had turned into their own personal voyage of discovery as their relationship had progressed from kissing to so much more. To her own astonishment, Draco Malfoy had proved to be a patient and caring lover, who took time with her emotionally and physically, and it had actually been her who’d pushed for a little more each time. 

Often, when he came home from work in the evening, she’d join him in the shower, enjoying the water rivulets running down his brightly-coloured tattooed dragon, to which he had added, further up his arm, using no cursed ink this time. He had almost a full sleeve now, and it looked amazing – a true work of art; fresh and new on his pale skin. 

Not a night had gone by where they had not made tender love in bed before falling asleep wrapped around each other. In the morning she would look at him, his blond eyelashes skimming his cheeks and a tousled white-blonde lock of hair falling over his forehead, and would smile. It had been an awfully long time since she had smiled. 

Orla would dare to say she was happy, content in this neat little life with this scared Slytherin who she’d known for seven years, yet not really known at all. 

-xxx-

As June turned into July, Hogwarts castle became a hive of activity as students were sitting their OWL and NEWT examinations, despite the country and wider wizarding world being in uproar. Hermione was at a distinct disadvantage in her exams, having missed most of the school year on the run with Potter and Weasley, and the time she had spent back at school had been severely curtailed by the demands of the compulsion curse, her work for the Order, and the ever-present threat of Voldemort and the Death Eaters. 

Yet Severus had no doubt that Granger would pass her NEWTs with excellent scores. He had last taught her in sixth year; her knowledge and capability were already far beyond that of her peers, and all reports from her current subject teachers suggested that she was on course for a crop of good passes. He wondered how exceptional she could have been, had she been in school for the entire year – her results could have been legendary. 

She would dutifully visit him in his office every night, arriving through the Floo from her dormitory, where he had left the connection permanently open for her. By unspoken agreement, he had not visited her dormitory again, not since the time where he had bared his emotions to her, and they had made such exquisite love in her tiny student bed. 

Granger had advised him that every spare moment she had was spent studying, and he had no doubt that this was true. She avoided the library, apart from to borrow or return books, preferring to study alone in her room. He suspected it was only there that she felt safe from the malevolent witches and wizards who stalked the castle. 

But still, she had not neglected her promise to hold the symptoms of the compulsion curse at bay for them both, and regularly nightly intercourse meant that there was no risk of either of them being unexpectedly compelled at inconvenient moments. There was little point in waiting for the compulsion to strike, they had agreed, it was best just to do it and continue their days as usual. 

His Floo would glow green, indicating her imminent arrival in his office, and his cock would lurch in his pants. He would cast a secure ward upon the door, not wanting to risk an interruption such as the one they had suffered the night they’d returned from Voldemort, and sit back in his chair to receive her, for he would usually be working at his desk when she arrived. 

There was no need for foreplay, since he would always be ready for her, his double-strength compulsion ruling every move his prick made. He would unzip his trousers and Granger would climb into his lap, always bare underneath her skirt, for she had given up wearing knickers on these visits in order to make them as short and as practical as possible. 

As she straddled him, he would guide his cock inside her, and she would slide down it, allowing his erection to open her tight walls. Sometimes he would play with her clitoris if she needed it, enjoying the feel of her hopping around in his lap as she climaxed. Other times she would already be compelled, and once seated on his cock she would cup his face and kiss him, searching kisses that urged him to open his mouth and surrender his tongue, and she would swirl her own around it, allowing him to thrust into her mouth as surely as he was thrusting from beneath her. 

Afterwards, she would remove herself from his lap, rearrange her skirt, and leave the office via the Floo. Sometimes no words would be spoken, for they did not need to be. She would leave him satiated, his cock red and exhausted, his hands twitching for one more touch of the naked, peachy-soft skin of her arse. 

The night of the final NEWT exam would usually lead to an evening of merriment within the castle, but not so under the new regime. It was a day and night as any other, and the students would soon be leaving to spend the summer at home with their families. For Severus, the holidays could not come soon enough. This had been the year from hell, and he had no idea how he would cope with another, and another after that. 

He stood on the dais in the darkened Great Hall, in front of the teachers’ table, right in the centre where he would normally stand behind the lectern to address the students. He wore only his white shirt and black trousers, for no coat or robe was necessary. It was midnight, and the castle was still. The ghosts were rarely seen nowadays, keeping out of the way of the Death Eaters, and there were no portraits any more, the only ones that had been saved were the ones from his office that he had secreted in the dungeon. 

One of the doors to the Great Hall creaked open, and she walked in. He had deputised a house-elf to fetch her, and to bring her directly here. Granger must have been in bed, for she was barefoot and wearing a dressing gown, her hair flowing loose. There was just enough light from the starry sky that he had conjured on the high ceiling for her to see him, and he beckoned to her, wordlessly. 

She closed the door behind her, and he shot a ward at it, which he knew she would hear. He followed her movements with his eyes as she walked up the central aisle towards him, her bare feet making no noise on the stone floor. When she approached the raised platform, she paused, and he extended a hand to escort her up the two small steps so that she stood next to him, and looked up, expectantly. 

“You have completed your final exam today.”

It was a statement, not a question, but she nodded. 

“I did. Transfiguration.”

“I know not what will happen after this, Miss Granger. I do not believe that the Dark Lord will allow you to return home as the other students will do, next week. I suggest that we covertly remove you to Grimmauld Place, tomorrow, where you will remain and cannot be touched, due to the Fidelius charm that is currently protecting the Lupins. I will intimate to the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters that I believe you to have absconded from the castle in the same way as Mr Malfoy and Miss Roach, and request that the Dark Lord lifts the compulsion curse. If he does not agree, I can of course visit you at Grimmauld Place to ensure our continued … comfort, however that leaves me under suspicion as to why I am not suffering curse-related symptoms.”

“I understand. Yes, I will go to Grimmauld tomorrow, if it won’t get you in trouble that I am gone?”

“It will be fine.”

She looked around the dark, empty Great Hall, and shivered. 

“So, um, why did you need me to come here?”

He caught her eyes with his own, and took hold of her hands. He was about to do something incredibly presumptuous. 

“This will be your last night that you spend in the castle. If you would permit me, I should like to make it … memorable.”

Her face was so trusting, so accepting, that he felt a pang of guilt at attempting to indulge him own desires. 

“You do not have to …” he added. 

“I want to,” she replied, firmly, interrupting him, and slipping a hand boldly to his neck, nudging his face towards hers. 

As if such a sublime witch would ever seek him out to kiss in such a manner under normal circumstances, but he was inherently Slytherin and was not about to waste the opportunity presented. Severus allowed her to pull his head down and bumped his lips against hers, teasingly pulling back as she opened her mouth to receive him. 

“Oh, please, Severus,” she whispered, not knowing the effect those three simple words would have on him, especially the use of his given name. 

The thought that she would have to ask him to kiss her was unfathomable, but yet, here they were, and he would not deny her. He returned his lips to her soft mouth and began to move them, swiping her own and pushing his tongue between them to tussle with hers, probing the deepest corners of her mouth, trying to kiss her so thoroughly that it would leave her gasping. 

It did. 

Whilst Granger was catching her breath, he swept her up and laid her out on the head table, which he had already softened with a cushioning charm. She looked like the most glorious dinner, being served up for his pleasure and delectation. He watched her eyes look at the conjured ceiling, enjoying its spectacular beauty, and slid his hand up her bare leg, under her dressing gown, to his surprise finding that she was naked underneath. 

She flicked her eyes to his, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at her, asking for answers. 

“When you summoned me at midnight, I presumed that I might not need any other clothes,” she shrugged, a cheeky expression upon her face. 

Severus wanted to ask the silly girl what she would have done if he’d been summoning her because he’d been ordered to take her before Voldemort, but opted not to break the sensual intensity since she had been entirely correct in her assumption, and he was more than pleased to find his witch naked under her dressing robe. 

Not your witch, he quickly corrected himself. 

Pulling the cord of her robe like he was untying the string of an especially well-wrapped gift, he allowed it to fall to her sides, exposing her beautiful body fully to his gaze, and he could not help but dive in straight away like a starving man, not a wizard who’d had sex with this girl every night in his office chair for the last two weeks. 

His black hair spilled on her chest as he dropped his mouth to her breast, suddenly desperate to take the nipple into his mouth and suckle. It felt soft and pliant under his lips, and he used his tongue to tease her nipple into a hard, erect point. He swept his other hand up and down her smooth body, touching everything he could reach, from her other breast, her soft stomach, under the rounded curve of her spine, over her hips, and delving between her legs, which she opened for him as soon as his hand moved lower. 

With his mouth still attached to her tit, he pushed two fingers inside her, feeling her hips tilt upwards to meet him. Raising his head slightly, he could see her looking at the magical ceiling whilst undulating under his mouth and hands. Good. That was what he wanted – to give her an experience she would not forget, even if it was with him. He doubted she’d forget being fucked on the top table of the Great Hall, and he was determined to make it blissful for her, if he possibly could. He knew how much she loved this castle, whatever else had happened. 

He moved his mouth to her other breast, whilst concentrating his attentions on her clitoris, withdrawing his fingers from inside her and tweaking the little bud out from its concealing hood, starting a slow twist on her most private, most sensitive spot, that soon had her panting, her legs opening wider, and her hips writhing in arousal. 

Wanting more of her, he travelled his mouth down her breast and ran his tongue along the underside of both as he sped up the masturbation on her clit, before kissing her abdomen with hard, open-mouthed movements, trailing his tongue around her belly-button. He felt her stomach contract under his mouth as she jerked in orgasm; since he was now pulling at her clitoris she did not have much choice but to spend. 

“Oh, good girl,” he murmured against her soft skin. “You came beautifully. Now, how about a second time?”

Severus climbed up onto the long table and knelt between her legs, holding them apart so he could look at the lush pinkness that was wet with the orgasm he had just wrought from her. He dropped his raven head to her cunt, fixing her labia open with his thumbs as he flickered his tongue everywhere, lapping up the sweet taste of her juices. It had been such a long time since he had last had his face in her pussy! His erection was threatening to burst the zip of his trousers, he was so bloody hard. 

“I can’t,” she panted, trying to wriggle away from him. 

“You can,” he muttered, slurping against her. “You can, and I want you to.”

She made a noise of aroused frustration. 

“Come, Hermione,” he crooned. “Feel my tongue on your hard little clit. It has much more to give me. It wants this, believe me.”

“Ohhhh …”

He smirked against her wet cunt and reapplied himself to the task in earnest, lashing against her over-aroused clitoris and sucking it into his mouth, nudging her towards the edge again. Fixing his mouth over as much of her as he could, he made a final, frenzied push, and as she released, her thighs trembling, copious amounts of juice squirted from her and trickled down his chin. 

Oh fuck, yes. This little peach had just come, gushing in his face and he fucking loved it. He knelt up, roughly opening the buttons and zip on his trousers, and liberating his cock which was purple with need, ignoring the fact that this girl was most definitely not his witch, he was not compelled, so he was basically just fucking a student over the top table in the Great Hall. He ignored all of this, chasing only his own desire, and her pleasure. He leaned over her and pushed inside, before guilt could get the better of him. 

Hermione looked at the starry sky of the enchanted ceiling, framing the dark head of Professor Snape as he loomed above her, having crammed himself deeply inside and was doing that slow thrusting he had done weeks before, in her dormitory, that felt as if he were trying to take her apart from the inside out. 

She’d never had a proper boyfriend, and if they got out of this situation alive, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted one. Right at this exact moment, whilst being made love to by an adult man, what she wanted was an intelligent, darkly but-not-conventionally attractive wizard, with the experience of age and the ability to make her feel safe, no matter how bleak the circumstance. 

His shoulders began to move as he fucked her with his whole body, driving them both higher. His long hair hung forward, almost tickling her nose where he was so close to her. He never closed his eyes – he always watched her, as if gauging her reactions, ascertaining her pleasure. She loved his eyes. They were so terrifying, fathomless and yet passionate all at the same time. If only he knew what she was thinking. He’d probably be horrified. 

Her reverie was cut off by Snape beginning to circle his hips as he thrust, reaching her sweet spot deep inside with every pass. Holy fuck, it felt good. She slipped her hands up to clasp his shoulders, as she’d learned that he seemed to like something to push against, and she dug her fingertips into his hard muscles, feeling them ripple under his skin with his efforts. 

“Hold me … Hermione, please,” he gasped, as his pace increased, and his skin became slickened with sweat. 

Anyone who happened to enter the Great Hall in the dead of night that evening, would have witnessed the curious sight of the headmaster atop a seventh-year student on the teachers’ table at the head of the hall, illuminated only by the starry ceiling and the moonlight from the huge window behind them. The uninvited visitor would have seen the professor’s shoulders stoop with the effort of his thrusting, and the young witch with her arms and legs wrapped around him, to all intents and purposes making love to one another with enough passion to light every fire in the castle. 

-xxx-

Severus decided to walk Hermione back to Gryffindor Tower himself, a moment of sentimentality for her final night here overriding all good sense. He even held her bloody hand as they wandered slowly through the familiar corridors, vast hallways and winding staircases. The castle looked so different now, with all the semi-sentient portraits destroyed, but the bare bones of the old building were still as much as they ever were. 

Their peaceful walk was disturbed by the ferocious burn of the Dark Mark against the skin on his left forearm. The pain was so severe that it actually caused him to shout in shock, grasping his arm in a futile attempt to make it stop. Within seconds, the corridors were filled by Death Eaters, throwing on their robes over their nightwear and running full-pelt towards the front door to get to the Apparition point outside the main gates. 

“Snape!” shouted Carrow, running past them. “Don’t just stand there! It’s an urgent summons!”

Severus Apparated to his office to collect his Death Eater robes, taking Granger with him since he was not about to leave her to the mercy of his ‘brothers’ rampaging through the corridors, out of bed after curfew and dressed in nothing but a robe. He instructed her to go back through the Floo to her dormitory, and stalked into his bedchamber at great speed to collect the hated clothing. 

When he returned to the office, he found her still there, holding out a scrap of parchment to him.

“This had come through the Floo, it was on the hearth. I saw it when I was about to throw the powder in.”

 

"Severus

Ensure you bring the Mudblood with you tonight."

 

How long ago had this note arrived in his office? How long had it been sitting there, impotent on the hearth whilst they had been wasting precious time shagging in the Great Hall, when he could have been securing her safe retreat to Grimmauld Place?  
Whilst his mind was whirring, he felt her small hand slip into his. 

“Sir? We to have to go.”

Not a trace of fear on her face, only resolution and determination. 

My brave witch, he thought, as he bade her to hold onto his arm as he touched the tip of his wand to the Dark Mark. 

They landed in what looked like an underfloor room, covered in stone from floor to ceiling, and cold, very cold. Other Death Eaters were arriving, not only those from schools, but everyone, summoned from their various stations to be here. What was amiss? Why did they all need to be called here in the dead of night, and most importantly, why had he needed to bring Granger with him? He had the very worst feeling, and began mentally cataloguing how he could Apparate the girl out of here – blowing his cover if need be, to save her life. 

The Death Eaters formed a semi-circle in front of the raised platform on which Voldemort sat, Nagini curled around his feet, not in her golden sphere. This room must be where she lived, it seemed suitable for a snake, if not a little cold. 

Whatever he had presumed about this meeting, whatever he might have prepared himself for, it certainly wasn’t for the sight of Draco Malfoy and Orla Roach materialising in the centre of the room, as Voldemort waved his wand over them to remove the Disillusionment charm that he held them under, revealing them only once all the followers had assembled.

Lucius Malfoy and Corban Yaxley exclaimed, and made to rush forwards, but were held back by other Death Eaters either side of them. 

“Patience, patience,” crooned Voldemort, in an oily tone. “We have much to question these young people about before you get a chance to punish your son, Lucius, and you your Mudblood, Corban.”

Severus’ mind had gone into free-fall, desperately trying to piece together what was happening, what was likely to happen next, and the terrifying thought that he now had three students in the room to protect, whilst not breaking his cover and not getting killed himself. 

Fuck.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where the hell had they been, how had they escaped from Hogwarts, and most importantly, who had found them and brought them here? How had the Death Eaters known where to even begin looking?

Voldemort hissed an order in Parseltongue to the snake, and Nagini slithered towards where the errant pair stood, hand-in-hand and clearly terrified. Her hefty reptilian body arranged itself in a circle around the young witch and wizard, not touching them, but forming a ring on the floor with her head raised up next to Draco, flickering her forked tongue in a threatening manner. 

The boy was wearing a black Muggle rock band t-shirt and tight jeans, his short hair was styled neatly, as if he had recently visited the barber’s, and his eyes had lost much of that haughty, Malfoy glare that usually defined them and instead they looked open and honest, much like the girl standing next to him. 

His left arm was covered in a quite stunning tattoo of a Common Welsh Green dragon, with curls of smoke and flame around it, leeching up the pale white skin of his arm. Severus couldn’t help but think of Charles Weasley’s pet, Garth, the miniature Longhorn, which was much more appealing than the fully-grown, dangerous-looking Welsh Green that Draco now had indelibly inked on his arm. 

So, that was what had happened to Draco’s Dark Mark. He had concealed it beneath the tattoo, and somehow managed to block the Protean charm that signalled his whereabouts to Voldemort, and the other Death Eaters that had been searching for him.

Where the hell had they been, how had they escaped from Hogwarts, and most importantly, how had they been found and brought here? Where had the Death Eaters known where to begin looking?

A hush fell across the messily assembled rabble as Voldemort held up a bony hand for silence, his silky black robe slipping down his skinny arm as he did so. 

“Loyal followers! I have summoned you in the middle of the night to expose before you the traitor and fugitive in our pack – Draco Malfoy!”

His pronouncement was met by jeers and catcalls, and Severus watched Miss Roach put her arms around Draco, protectively. Were they a couple now, or simply close friends, forced closer by their time on the run together? 

“Your pathetic embrace cannot help him now, Mudblood! Malfoy is a disgrace to everyone in this room, everyone who bears their Dark Mark with pride and follows my orders, whatever they may be. Look! Look how this boy has defaced the brand that I placed upon him, marking him in place of his father, who was at that time incarcerated in Azkaban!”

All eyes swivelled to Lucius, who looked stricken with fear and trepidation, his ice-blue eyes a little more alert than usual, but still dulled with the magical opiates that Snape knew him to be addicted to. Voldemort gave a soft command in Parseltongue, and Nagini raised her fearsome head to where the Draco’s Dark Mark should be, under the tattoo. 

Running her head along Draco’s forearm, whilst the boy shook with fear, the snake appeared to be assessing the tattoo. Then, to Severus’ surprise, Nagini turned without attacking, hissing a reply to her master, who replied with yet more Parseltongue. What they were discussing was anyone’s guess, as the only person apart from Tom Riddle that he’d known to speak Parseltongue had been Harry Potter.

“How did this heinous filth block the connecting charm of the Dark Mark, boy?” Voldemort demanded, his face furious. “I warn you to speak the truth, since Nagini is most … agitated.”

“I cursed the inks before they were used on my skin,” Draco replied, his voice full of hatred. 

The Dark Lord paused, as if considering the veracity of Malfoy’s answer, before appearing satisfied, and once again addressed the room. 

“I advised all of you previously, that the follower who brought me Draco Malfoy and the escaped Mudblood would be elevated to the place by my side. This loyal brother used his brain! He did not search fruitlessly, as so many of you have been doing. He wanted my reward, he wanted to see me pleased, and he sought a way of doing that.”

Voldemort waved his wand again, and removed another Disillusionment charm, this time on the platform next to him, revealing the proud and smirking face of Rodolphus Lestrange, holding his wand to the temple of Narcissa Malfoy, who was clearly under his Imperius curse as her eyes were strangely blank, but streaming with tears, for she would have been aware of everything she’d no doubt been forced to do. 

-xxx-

Orla clutched tighter to Draco as the two people on the platform were revealed. The tall man with the straggly black hair and filthy beard was the same one who had approached them in the pub, where they had met for a Friday night drink after Draco had finished work, along with many of the other regulars they often met there. They had been sitting at a corner table, enjoying a beer, when the man had slunk into the chair beside Draco, nearly causing him to fall off his own seat in fright, for he’d obviously recognised the unwanted visitor straight away.

“No sudden moves, Malfoy,” he’d hissed. “We have your mother over there, on the end of Travers’ wand, and if you do even one stupid thing, we’ll blast her head off, understand?”

Draco had looked across the moderately crowded pub to see the blonde head of his mother, who was sitting at a table surrounded by three malevolent looking wizards, all wearing black Muggle clothing in an attempt to blend in to their environment. 

“How did you find us?” Draco muttered, angrily. 

“Mother’s magic, little boy. The genetic mother can always locate their child with almost precise accuracy, if they know the right incantations for maternal sorcery. No doubt your doting, overprotective, wet-blanket of a mother has been able to do this since you were a mewling baby.”

“You are lying,” he spat. “My mother would never expose me. Ever!”

Lestrange had shaken his head in a patronising, faux-sympathetic manner.

“Draco, Draco, Draco. A little Imperio was all she needed to persuade her.”

Draco looked as if he was about to throw up in his pint, and Orla had grabbed hold of his hand, pulling him to his feet. Lestrange drew his wand under the table and poked it into Draco’s thigh. 

“Sit down now, you little fools. It has taken a hell of a lot of work to locate you, and a lot of wasted time sitting around waiting for you to show yourselves together. You’re both coming with me, and this will be the night I shall seek my reward for delivering you both to the Dark Lord.”

In that instant, he had forced them outside the Muggle pub in the ordinary York high street, and Apparated them away with little care to who might have seen them. They had landed here, in the cold cellar of a house that Orla presumed must belong to Voldemort, for the giant snake that she’d seen with him at the battle of Hogwarts was coiled on the floor, moving about the stone floor as if taking a peculiar form of exercise.

Then, all hell had broken loose. 

Three other Death Eaters had Apparated in, a defeated-looking Narcissa Malfoy at the end of their wands, and Voldemort had been summoned, filling the already chilly cellar with an icy cold blast. He looked around at the assembled Death Eaters, Draco and his mother, and herself, and smiled, actually smiled with obscene pleasure at their distress, before using his wand to cast an unknown incantation, that Draco explained was to call the rest of the Death Eaters before him. He had then Disillusioned and silenced them all with charms, and freezing their bodies so they could not escape. 

The room began to fill up as Death Eaters Apparated in the room, increasing her terror with every new crack that brought another person, another enemy to flee from. 

“I think you can release Madam Malfoy from your Imperius curse now, Rodolphus,” Voldemort instructed, in his strangely soft voice. “We have no further need of her services.”

Lestrange released the curse, and Draco’s mother ran towards him, weeping, begging his forgiveness, crying that she had not been able to resist the pull of the curse. The snake reared up to block her path, to prevent her from reaching her son, and they both screamed. 

“Stop, mother!” Draco had warned, holding up his hand to insist that she did not come any nearer. “I know! I know you would never have done this yourself.”

Narcissa was crying, and Draco was too, pulling Orla into his arms and holding her tightly against him, sobbing into her hair, which was tied in a messy plait that hung over one shoulder. Rodolphus Lestrange dragged Narcissa to her feet and thrust her in the direction of Lucius Malfoy. 

“Here you are, husband. Deal with your wife, for it is she who has surrendered your son’s life before the Dark Lord, not that you hadn’t dispensed with the child’s life years ago to save your own measly skin,” Lestrange goaded.

Draco’s mother made to embrace his father, but the blond man stood impassive, his arms folded, a cold fury emanating from every pore. He did not offer her words of comfort, nor physical reassurance. 

“Rodolphus,” continued Voldemort, “you have done well. Lord Voldemort always keeps his promises, and you will stand here by my side, a fitting replacement for your dearly departed wife, Bella.”

He stroked Lestrange’s arm in such a creepy and unsettling manner that it made Orla wonder if the Dark Lord was a closeted homosexual, and then he turned swiftly to face the two of them, fixing them with his red-eyed stare. She was so frightened that she felt she might piss herself right here, right now, and was thankful for Draco’s arms around her trembling body. She was more frightened than she had ever been when alone with Yaxley, more frightened than when her parents were murdered. 

A quick glance around the room made her wish she hadn’t bothered, for all she could see was Death Eaters, robed in black, some wearing their masks, whilest others had removed them, although their faces were just as terrifying as the masks. Hermione Granger stuck out like a sore thumb in a red Gryffindor dressing gown, barefooted and next to Professor Snape, who was unmasked. What was she doing here? Was she in trouble too? Why wasn’t she dressed? Orla had no idea what would happen next, nor what their fate would be. 

“How did the two of you manage to escape Hogwarts? Do not presume to lie to me, as I am sure you are aware that I can compel you to answer me truthfully. Now speak!”

Orla opened her mouth to reply, but Draco stopped her. 

“You can’t speak to him, not unless he requests it,” he whispered, under his breath, before turning to Voldemort. “We escaped through the Room of Requirement, My Lord.”

“My Lord, is it, Draco? My Lord, after you have defaced my Mark, concealed yourself from me, and taken your brother’s boon from him? How dare you? Crucio!”

The white-faced madman cast the Cruciatus curse upon Draco, and her lover fell to the ground in pain, falling on the snake and causing her to lurch wildly, her vicious jaws open and eyes wild, only called to heel by a command in Parseltongue from her master when he had released the Crucio. Orla knelt next to Draco, wiping his brow and kissing his face, urging him to open his eyes. 

“How touching,” ridiculed Voldemort, looking in disgust at the scene of affection before him, before a spark of interest flared in his evil eyes. “And yet … you look alike, you favour one another, the two of you. Are you sure you are truly a Mudblood? Do you not have some Malfoy ancestry inside you? Speak, for Lord Voldemort gives you permission!”

Orla looked up from her position on the floor, kneeling beside her boyfriend, her lover, her saviour, her best friend; who had opened his eyes and was now holding her hand. 

“As if I would pretend to be a Muggle-born,” she answered, insolently, her face filled with loathing for this awful wizard, who seemed barely human, let alone capable of compassion. 

“I suggest you keep a civil tongue in your head when you have been given permission to speak, Mudblood, else I shall remove it. Who are your parents?”

“Gerard and Angela Roach. They are both Muggles.”

“Where are they now?”

“They are dead. Killed by Death Eaters,” she replied, unable to keep the reproach from her voice, which he ignored without a trace of guilt or remorse. 

“And from where do you come from? I hear Irish in you.”

“From Narraghmore. It is a very small village in Southern Ireland.”

“Narraghmore?” exclaimed Narcissa Malfoy. “Why, that is the village where Lucius spent the summer holidays, just a couple of months before we discovered that we were finally expecting Draco.”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, a look of excitement within them that Orla did not like one bit. 

“What is your date of birth, witch?” he asked, slowly, and she noticed that for the first time, he had not addressed her as Mudblood. 

“The second of April, 1980.”

“And Draco, yours?”

“The fifth of June, 1980,” Draco croaked, his voice still shaky from the Crucio he’d received, and screamed himself hoarse through as he endured it, although he was sitting up now, and the tremor had stopped wreaking through his body. 

“Not twins, then,” Voldemort mused, as Narcissa scoffed. 

“I think I would know if I’d given birth to twins,” she muttered to Lucius, who was looking pained. “My Lord, I can confirm that we have no Roach in either the Malfoy or the Black ancestry.”

Silence fell across the room, and it appeared the bizarre line of questioning was over. 

“But, perhaps … what was your mother’s maiden name?”

Why he needed to know that, Orla had no idea, but now didn’t seem a great time to start calling someone a nosey fucking git, when they held your life in their scaly hands. 

“Clairvhelly,” she replied, truthfully. “She was Angela Clairvhelly, before she married my father.”

“No!”

The voice had come from Lucius Malfoy, who was now covering his face with his hands and shaking his head. 

“Speak, Lucius!” Voldemort commanded. “Do not hide from me. Are you acquainted with the Muggle woman whom she describes?”

Every eye in the room turned towards the elder Malfoy, and Orla’s heart began to thump against her chest, so hard that she thought it might burst out and spill all over Draco like a disgusting potion explosion. Guilt was written all over Lucius’ pale face as he began to speak. 

“Angela Clairvhelly was my … was my lover. For a short time, in the summer of 1979, which I spent in Narraghmore, Ireland, away from my wife. We were, at the time, struggling to conceive a child, and therefore took some time apart to refresh ourselves before attempting to try again.”

Narcissa dropped to the stone floor as if her knees had buckled beneath her, grasping either side of her head and screaming in anguish. 

“Lucius! How could you? How could you?”

The smile on the slit that passed for Voldemort’s mouth became wider and happier and nastier, as if he had been given a particularly salacious piece of gossip. He raised his wand and cast a complicated spell between herself and Draco’s father, joining them together with strands of glistening magic, sparking yellow and green as they coiled between them, turning this way and that, joining then splitting, joining again until every strand was like an unbroken, undulating circle. What the hell had he cast upon them? It didn’t hurt, but she was still terrified. 

Lucius, and every Death Eater in the room, appeared aware of what the unbroken circle meant, as uproar broke out, shouting and screaming, and Draco’s father stared at her with abject terror upon his face. Scared, she chanced a look at Hermione, who was the only one who seemed to be as bemused as she was. 

“Silence!” Voldemort called, and the hush was immediate and absolute at his command. “Well, Lucius, it appears that you left more than memories with Miss Clairvhelly after your summer dalliance. The paternity charm proves irrevocably that this girl is of half-Malfoy blood, and that you are her natural father.”

Draco struggled to his feet, pulling Orla towards him and breaking the sparking coils of magic that bound her to his father. 

“No! She is not my sister! There is no way she can be – father, tell me that this is a mistake, tell me that the charm is wrong. Please, father … we are together! As a man and a woman. I ... I love her.”

His voice was cracking with fear and emotion, anger and despair. Draco’s beautiful face, the one she gazed at every morning as he slept, was crestfallen, his ice-blue eyes, those eyes that were identical to hers … spilled with hot, furious tears. His father – their father, looked as guilty as absolute hell, and said nothing, just continued to look between the two of them in horror. 

“Oh, this is even better than I had thought!” Voldemort called, gleefully. “Do you mean to tell me that the two of you are lovers, Draco? Have you been fucking your own sister? How delightfully … grotesque. Perhaps we can make a Death Eater out of you, yet.”

“Never!” Draco roared. “Never will I follow you, not while I have my own free will! You have ruined my life, every step of the way, Tom Riddle. You broke my parents, destroyed my family, and forced me to bear your vile Mark. Now you want to take from me the only witch who has ever loved me, and who I love in return!”

“Silence, stupid boy! There is no such thing as your pathetic love! Witches are easily gained, easily fucked, easily lost. We must return your sister to her true parentage, for she is a half-blood, not a Mudblood, and will be treated as such. Yaxley! You can expect severe retribution for your abuse of the daughter of Lucius Malfoy, and I shall allow him to punish you as he sees fit.”

At least there was some sliver of positive in this whole damn mess, Orla thought, fleetingly, remembering all the times the vile wizard had raped, injured and humiliated her. 

“What, and that’s just it?” shouted Draco.

His entire body was shaking in her arms. This wizard she loved, this boy she had such a contented, easy life with, her biological brother? How could it be? But the verification spell did not lie, and neither did the mirror they looked in every day, laughing about how similar they looked, and how beautiful their hypothetical future children would be. For how many years had she been teased by her school friends about being a secret Malfoy? 

Because she was. 

She had been sleeping with her half-brother, inadvertently and unaware, yes, but the crime was the same. 

“Oh no, Draco,” sneered Voldemort. “That is most certainly not, it. You will be punished severely for your transgressions. Your dereliction from the Death Eaters, your defacing of the Dark Mark, and your kidnap of your sister, Miss Malfoy …”

“Orla is not, and never will be, Miss Malfoy! She is not my sister, you bastard arsehole from the depths of hell!”

-xxx-

Hermione gulped as Draco threw years of repressed vitriol directly in the face of the Dark Lord, drawing his wand and lurching out of Orla’s arms, towards his tormentor, fury and immense hurt upon his face.   
What the hell was he doing? Was he attempting to take on Voldemort, one-on-one?

Whatever he was planning, he got no further. Nagini reared up in defence of her master, wrapping her heavy body around Draco, forcing him to the floor before opening her huge jaws and sinking her fangs into his throat, just as Hermione had watched her do to Neville Longbottom in the Hogwarts courtyard. 

Orla screamed, and the noise was terrifying; a primal, raw, guttural sound that caused every Death Eater in the room to draw back, away from the murder scene and the sheer anguish that was being played out right in front of them.   
Hermione suddenly felt something heavy in her hand, inserting itself into her grasp, and she looked down. 

It was the Sword of Gryffindor. 

The Sword of Godric Gryffindor may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor during their time of greatest need. 

It had presented itself to her, and she knew what she was meant to do with it. She could not hesitate for a second, as Death Eaters were all around her, ready to take her down. There was one chance, and one chance alone, to get this right. 

Hermione ran forwards, the sword held in front of her, and without hesitation she plunged the long blade right through the neck of the enormous snake who had not even seen her approach, being so preoccupied with devouring Draco Malfoy. 

Leaving the blade embedded in the snake’s throat, not risking the time to take a second stroke or to remove the sword, she grabbed a tight hold of Orla’s arm, and Apparated them both away. 

-xxx-

Surveying the scene of utter devastation around him, Severus stood his ground. He could not follow Granger, despite having guessed where she would have gone and wanting desperately to be there with her. The Sword had presented itself, and his little witch had thrown herself into the fray with the foolish bravery of a true Gryffindor, killing the snake and the Horcrux within, with the blade that was impregnated with Basilisk venom. 

Even now, he saw the sword shimmer and disappear, its work done, as the snake fell to the floor, taking Draco’s lifeless body, clamped in her frozen jaws, down with her. 

Voldemort had fallen to his knees, screaming at the loss of his final Horcrux. 

Narcissa had run to her son’s side, stroking his arm and wailing; although surely she must know that he was lost to her?

Lucius stood as if in an enchanted trance, his eyes wide but unblinking, his face as deathly pale as the Dark Lord’s. He had just gained a daughter and lost a son, all in the space of a few minutes. 

The Death Eaters were in disarray, the noise level cacophonous, the disbelief evident on everyone’s faces and on everyone’s lips.

Soon, all eyes would turn to him, for it had been his Mudblood that had just taken the life of the Dark Lord’s precious snake. He began to Occlude, frantically, shutting away any memories of Granger that could prove his guilt or his complicity. 

Granger had played an absolute blinder in destroying the final Horcrux and escaping with Miss Roach. Severus just hoped he’d be alive to congratulate her.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The only reassurance I can give you, Hermione, is that Severus would rather die than betray those to whom he is loyal. It took me twenty years to learn than, but now I know this with absolute certainty. He will either keep you safe, or he will die in the attempt.”

Remus was distracted from his task of warming Teddy’s bottle of magical baby formula milk in a saucepan on the Grimmauld Place stove, when the loud crack of Apparition sounded outside the back door that led to the garden. He drew his wand defensively, cradling Teddy in the opposite arm as the door handle pressed down – the wand of the late-night visitor must have been recognised by the wards set upon the house, and thankfully it was Hermione who fell into the warm kitchen, dragging a scared-looking young girl behind her whom Remus did not recognise, although he wondered if he’d taught her at any point. Neither of them looked injured, although their faces were pale with shock, and the unknown witch’s eyes were red from weeping. 

“Remus, oh my goodness!”

Hermione threw herself into his free arm and he wrapped it around her, feeling her shaking body through his own as he held her tightly. She wasn’t crying, but breathing heavily as if she’d been running, or had been scared out of her wits. She let him go as quickly as she’d attached herself, taking hold of the girl with the white-blonde hair and guiding her into one of the tall wooden chairs that were set around the long kitchen table. 

“Tea?” he enquired, pointing his wand at the almost-full kettle that was still warm on the stove, having been recently boiled to warm Teddy’s milk. 

“I think so,” she muttered, gratefully, sitting next to the girl and grabbing her hand. “This is Orla, the other Muggle-born that stayed at Hogwarts, the one we told you about.”

“Not so Muggle-born now,” said Orla, ruefully, shaking her head in distress. 

“We’ll come to that, I promise,” Hermione replied, gently. “But first, this is Remus Lupin, and his son, Teddy. You can trust him.”

“I remember Professor Lupin,” the girl interjected, a small smile of greeting curling one side of her mouth. “You taught me Defence in my third year, Sir, I was in Hufflepuff.”

“Of course,” he responded, politely, although if truth be known he couldn’t remember her, he’d been rather too pre-occupied with Gryffindors, Slytherins, Dementors and escapees from Azkaban the year he had taught Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. 

“We are in my house in London,” Hermione explained. “It’s Secret-Kept, protected under a Fidelius charm, so no one can find us here unless we personally give over the address. Remus lives here, because … well, I’m sure you know why.”

“Werewolves are about as popular as Muggle-borns under Minister Umbridge’s rule, eh, Sir?” 

“Absolutely,” he agreed, hearing the strong Irish accent in her voice, and sending two mugs of hot, sweet tea over to the girls with a discreet flourish of his wand. “And Remus is fine, no need for Sir. I’m certainly not your professor any longer.”

She nodded, and he joined them at the table, Teddy’s milk now adequately heated on the stove-top, for some things could not be done by magic and heating baby formula was one of them. Sitting opposite Hermione he held his blue-haired son in the crook of his arm with practised ease and offered the grumbling bundle his night-time feed, which Teddy took eagerly, suckling at the warm milk in the bottle. Not for the first time, Remus felt a pang of regret that his wonderful son was missing the experience of feeding at his mother’s breast, having to make do with substitute bottles and teats in a cruel mockery of what should have been his natural, loving time with the witch who gave birth to him. 

When Teddy was settled and feeding, Remus turned his attention back to the two girls, who both looked terrified, now that he observed them properly. 

“What is going on, Hermione? I did not expect you back from school for a while yet, surely the exams have only just finished?”

“We don’t finish until next week, but Severus, er … Professor Snape, thought it prudent that I left the castle for good after my final exam. He believes that now my education is complete, Voldemort might begin wanting a greater hand in my ‘training’, and that it was safer for me to flee now, rather than wait unnecessarily.”

“And Miss, er … ?” 

He waved his hand vaguely, realising he could not remember Orla’s surname.

“I don’t even know what my name is, or what it should be any more. I was Miss Roach, but just call me Orla,” the Irish girl said, cryptically. 

Hermione began to explain everything that had happened that evening. How she had been summoned with Severus to an emergency meeting of the Death Eaters, where it was dramatically revealed that this girl Orla had been captured, found by Rodolphus Lestrange after running away from Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy. 

The blonde girl had begun to cry at this point, as the tale unfolded, Hermione telling him how they’d been discovered hiding in the Muggle world, because Lestrange had put Narcissa Malfoy under an Imperius curse, and how it had transpired, under Voldemort’s questioning, that Lucius Malfoy had engaged in an affair with Orla’s mother before she met her husband, resulting in the birth of a child, meaning that Orla and Draco were half-siblings.

“So that makes you a Malfoy then, not a Muggle-born?” Lupin had asked her, looking for a little positivity in the situation, although if one wanted wizarding blood, Malfoy would not be anyone’s first choice. 

“It also makes me someone whose been sleeping with their brother,” she replied, weeping in earnest now. 

“Remus – Draco was killed tonight,” Hermione revealed, to his shock and horror. “When he found out that he and Orla were brother and sister, he let Voldemort have every bit of anger that he must have been holding inside. Draco called him terrible names, all deserved of course, but then he lunged at him, and … and Nagini … she leapt at Draco and brought him down. She tore his throat out. You know … the same thing that happened to Neville.”

Hermione’s face was red with shock and sadness as she continued to explain the events of the evening. Remus mused that pacing the floor for hours with Teddy suddenly seemed a more preferable occupation than trying to unravel the mess that was now sitting in the Grimmauld kitchen.

“She’s leaving out the most important bit,” Orla sobbed, her voice catching. “Hermione killed the snake. Stabbed it right through the neck.”

Lupin’s eyes flew open wide in surprise.

“You killed Nagini?”

“I did,” Hermione confirmed. “I was just standing there, watching and horrified, when the Sword of Gryffindor appeared in my hand, the way it did for Neville in the courtyard, and for Harry in the Chamber of Secrets, all those years ago, and I knew what I needed to do. I knew the sword could destroy Horcruxes, I had to do it.”

“And then what?” he asked, still incredulous at everything he was hearing, it was wonderful and terrible news, both at the same time. 

“I grabbed Orla’s arm and came here.”

“You mean this has just happened – mere minutes ago?”

They both nodded. 

“Well. I don’t know what to say,” he replied. “I can’t believe it. The final Horcrux, destroyed. You are astonishing, Hermione. But, where is the sword?”

“I left it stuck in the snake. If we’d waited a second longer then the Death Eaters would have shrugged out of their shock and I would have been brought down, for certain.”

“And Severus?”

“He is still there. He had no idea what I was going to do, well, I certainly didn’t, so there’s no way he could have. There was no time to make any plans.”

“No doubt he will be questioned, perhaps harshly,” Lupin opined, setting his mouth in a grim line.

The fear returned to her face, and her hands flew to her mouth. 

“Could he get in trouble for what I did?”

“You were supposedly under his control, Hermione,” Lupin replied, gently, so as not to unduly alarm her. “He will need to prove that he knew nothing about your true intentions.”

“But, how will he do that?”

“Severus is an excellent actor, and an accomplished spy and double-agent who has walked the line between the Light and the Dark for many years now. His Occlumency is also second-to-none. If anyone can fool the Dark Lord, it is Severus Snape.”

“But, what if he can’t? Remus, what if he can’t? What happens if he’s forced to tell the truth?”

Lupin swallowed hard. There was no point in giving the girl false hope, or sugar-coating the situation, so he simply told the truth. 

“The only reassurance I can give you, Hermione, is that Severus would rather die than betray those to whom he is loyal. It took me twenty years to learn than, but now I know this with absolute certainty. He will either keep you safe, or he will die in the attempt.”

He watched her face crumple with a deeply personal, viscerally real distress that he had not expected to see. 

-xxx-

The bodies of Draco Malfoy and Nagini twitched their last, both unquestionably dead, along with Voldemort’s final Horcrux. The Dark Lord was still on his knees, bellowing in what seemed like physical pain, louder than Severus had ever heard him. Did something inside him feel the death of the Horcrux? Or was this simply blind fury that his attempts to achieve immortality had finally been wrenched from him, and by a teenage Muggle-born that he derided, no less?

Narcissa was kneeling in the pool of blood, uncaring of the gore, as she clutched the lifeless arm of her son, weeping. Lucius had tried to edge her away, but she was having none of it, ordering her philandering husband to get away from her, out of her sight, for ever. 

In truth, Severus felt little sympathy for her. Enjoying the trappings of his wealth, Narcissa had allowed Lucius’ behaviour to run riot, to turn a blind eye to previous dalliances, for he had no doubt that she either knew or at least suspected about others, and put up with his descent into the realms of dark magic until she was so intrinsically linked herself that it was impossible to escape. The Black family had been wealthy, of course, but their riches were nothing compared to that of the Malfoys, and Narcissa had made by far the best marriage out of the three sisters. 

However, finding out that her husband had been cheating on her during a time of great stress in their marriage, when they were attempting to conceive their first child, and then to discover all these years later that the affair had in fact sired a daughter, must be particularly galling. At present, she was a grieving mother. The fuller implications of Lucius’ affair, and the public revealing of her husband to be the genetic father of the illegitimate Orla Roach, now her father’s sole heir, would no doubt encroach upon their lives soon enough. 

“Severus!”

The Dark Lord’s voice rang out across the room, immediately silencing the Malfoys’ wails and the Death Eaters’ shocked chatter. Snape felt a plummeting feeling in his stomach as he began to approach the raised platform, where Voldemort was getting to his feet, and tidying his robes, as if his fit of screaming pique had not happened. 

“Severus,” he repeated, beckoning with a single, bony finger. 

Snape reached the platform and dropped to one knee in supplication. 

“My Lord.”

“Rise, Severus. Rise, and explain to me why your Mudblood, who was meant to be fully under your control, has just revealed herself to be the holder of the Sword of Gryffindor and run my precious snake through?”

Suspecting that Voldemort would most likely be on the very edge of insanity, Severus swallowed hard and composed himself both internally and externally before answering in what he hoped was a smooth, neutral fashion. 

“I know not, My Lord. I am just as shocked and appalled as you are. The Mudblood has done nothing to make me suspect she was anything but compliant, and that she was devoted in her intention to learn our ways and join the side of the Dark.”

“You did not notice she was concealing a sword? The girl was undressed, no doubt you had just been fucking the filthy whore, how could she have hidden a weapon of that size from you?”

“The Sword of Gryffindor, My Lord, is a semi-sentient magical artefact. It has the capability to present itself to any Gryffindor who it deems worthy, and in great need.”

There was a look of unwilling confusion on Voldemort’s face as he processed the given information, as he realised that he could not argue with magic. The sword had known that it was needed to kill the Horcrux, and had considered Miss Granger a worthy recipient. He could not make further protestations without inadvertently revealing before the assembled Death Eaters that Nagini was not only a snake, but the living vessel that contained the final piece of his shattered soul, leaving only a small sliver that was left inside his own, malformed, corporeal body. 

Without warning, the Dark Lord Legilimised into Severus’ mind, forcing him to his knees with the pain of his forced entry. He had been Occluding since Hermione had Apparated away, attempting to tidy away anything that may incriminate them, or suggest they had any relationship beyond the presumed abusive one where he was repeatedly taking advantage of his student. 

He felt Voldemort’s interest as he rifled through Severus’ memories of their sexual encounters like a rampant hunter crashing through the undergrowth to reach its prey, uncaring of what it destroyed in his path. 

Snape pushed the more salacious encounters forwards for immediate perusal, since the Dark Lord was not known for his patience – the spanking, taking her from behind, pinning her roughly against the wall or window ledge. He hid the tender kisses, their whispered words of consent and support, him brewing and providing her with a regular contraceptive potion, and conjuring bruises and marks on her skin to imply he’d been mistreating her. 

He had some entirely false memories of him instructing Granger in the Dark Arts, that he had been working on for weeks, in the event of just such an intrusion as this. He was seen to be speaking to her of the seductive nature of dark magic, encouraging her to open herself to its enticing allure, and he felt Voldemort’s approval. Thank fuck for that, the psychotic bastard actually seemed to believe the false memories, that was at least something. 

Riddle pulled out of his mind as viciously as he’d entered it, leaving Severus reeling on the floor with the pain of his swift exit, as if he’d pulled a long, sharp blade from his skull and was now bleeding out through his eyes. 

“Death Eaters, hear this! No stone is to be left unturned in the search for Miss Malfoy, and Potter’s Mudblood! Both are to be brought before me alive and unharmed. The young witch is to be returned to her father, where she will be educated in our ways, and the responsibilities and privileges that come with her noble blood. 

Narcissa, rise! You have lost your son, but this was through his own foolish attempts at heroism. He should have known that my beloved Nagini would always leap to my defence, and he has paid for that stupidity with his life. However, in my benevolence and forgiveness, I shall allow you to take Draco’s body and give it a funeral as you see fit. 

In return, you will accept Lucius’ daughter into your home and raise her as your own, for the girl’s natural mother is dead. You will change her name to Malfoy, and she will take your son’s place among the Death Eaters and within your family.”  
Narcissa nodded meekly, and rose to her feet looking utterly defeated. 

“Lucius! I believe that the less said about the incestuous relationship between your children, the better. Your son is dead, and therefore nothing can be gained from discussing it further. We shall not speak of it again. Take your wife, and your son’s body, and leave me.”

There was an ugly scene as Lucius and Narcissa extricated Draco’s body from the lifeless, locked jaws of Nagini and were forced to Apparate it away in two separate, bloody pieces. Severus could not help but feel great regret for his young Slytherin who had, in the end, really had no choice about the direction his life had taken. What a waste, such a terrible waste of a boy who had much potential, especially academically, to have it squandered by the mess his father had created with his lust for dark magic, power, and for witches who were not his wife. 

“Macnair!” Voldemort’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You are to return to Hogwarts with your brothers who are stationed there, and advise them that Headmaster Snape will not be returning … just at this moment. He has to prove himself worthy before I allow him to retake his high office. Put that wretched Gryffindor cat in charge, appoint her interim Headmistress, but with you by her side at every moment, do you understand?”

“I understand completely, My Lord, and will return now and put all your instructions in place.”

Macnair bowed obsequiously, and Apparated away, followed by the other Death Eaters who were also stationed at the school – including Rabastan Lestrange, who looked mightily pissed off at his brother’s elevation to the Dark Lord’s side, whilst he had to return to the indignity of the Hogwarts greenhouses and the supervision of Professor Sprout’s Herbology lessons. 

Voldemort turned to the other Death Eaters; the ones who worked in the Ministry in high-ranking department head positions, and the remaining few who were stationed around the country in secret places such as international Apparation points, wizarding checkpoints and marshalling Snatchers. 

“You may all return to your positions. Travers, please advise Minister Umbridge that Headmaster Snape will be … on sabbatical for an indefinite, but hopefully short, period of time, and that I have placed a substitute headteacher in the role.”

Multiple cracks of Apparition were heard as every other person left the dimly-lit stone cellar, leaving Severus alone with Voldemort, who was staring at the dead body of Nagini on the floor, the flow of blood from the huge wound on her neck that had much such an enormous pool on the floor, finally stopped. There was an unbearable silence, and Severus wrenched himself up from the floor, where he had crashed with a blinding pain after Voldemort had left his mind so viciously.

He stood almost the same height as the Dark Lord, they were evenly matched, and their eyes met, Severus’ black ones to Voldemort’s red, and there they opposed one another, supposedly master and servant, but in truth, deadly enemies. 

“I have seen your mind, Severus,” he began, speaking slowly with the tone of his voice ominously quiet, “and I am not entirely convinced that you can be trusted. I wonder if you have not developed an inappropriate liking for the charms of your Mudblood slut?”

“My Lord, I have not …”

“Silence. There is no need for your excuses, nor for you to attempt to slither out of trouble, since there is a very easy way for me to discover your true loyalties. You are a Slytherin, and the most important character trait of a Slytherin is self-preservation. You will not protect anyone’s life above that of your own. I know this, for what Slytherin would? Therefore, you will stay here until the compulsion next comes upon you. If you know where the Mudblood is, you will no doubt go and find her to assuage your lust and save your own life. If you truly do not know, you will be driven to madness and eventual death from the demands of an unsatisfied curse.”

Severus narrowed his eyes, trying to disguise how fast his brain was working by keeping as neutral an expression as he could manage, despite his current panic. 

“So, I either prove myself a traitor by seeking out the Mudblood, or I prove myself loyal by staying here and dying before you?”

As always, the Dark Lord’s logic, and respect for human life, was impeccable.

“That would seem to be the case, Severussss.”

“My Lord, I promise you, I feel nothing for the Mudblood other than the physical desire that the curse compels me to.”

“You will prove that,” Voldemort hissed, taking out his wand and casting a secure ward around the manor, magically locking Snape inside its walls. 

-xxx-

Hermione and Orla were in two single beds, separated by a chunky wooden bedside cabinet where they had placed a candle to provide them with a little light. It was the same room that Hermione had shared many times with Ginny, when they’d been staying here. Brave, wonderful Ginny; a feisty witch who would have gone far in life, had she not been cut down on a whim by Voldemort, simply for displaying her distress at the murder of her boyfriend, unknowingly starting the carnage that had erupted in the courtyard and the subsequent slaughter of her entire family. 

Remus had returned to his bedroom, taking Teddy with him, who had fallen asleep on his bottle, and Lupin was hoping for a few more hours sleep before the baby woke up hungry again. Hermione and Orla had both purloined a t-shirt from Remus to sleep in, since neither of them had any clothes other than the ones they stood up in, and Hermione didn’t even have any underwear, embarrassingly. It could be dealt with in the morning, hopefully with clearer heads than they had now. 

They faced each other, faces glowing softly in the candlelight; the familiar creak of the old beds and linens cocooning them towards sleep.

“Did you love him?” Hermione asked, sensing that Orla needed to talk, even though her eyes filled with tears yet again at the question. 

“I don’t know. We’ve just had the most wonderful time together since we ran from the school. I certainly liked him very much. He’d never said he loved me either, not until … just then.”

“I suppose the fear made him admit his true feelings.”

“Probably,” she admitted. “I could have quite easily loved him, in the due passing of time, Hermione. He isn’t anything like the Draco Malfoy that used to strut around the school like an entitled arsehole.”

“I’m sure he isn’t. It was a brave thing he did, to flee the castle.”

Orla nodded, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. 

“He is so brave. I never would have thought it. When he covered his Dark Mark with that tattoo … the pain was immense, and so sustained, but he bore it so well. He never once considered giving up, he just wanted to hide … to hide us.”

There was a long silence.

“We can’t return to Hogwarts, Orla. Neither of us. The only place we can be safe is here, until the Dark Lord is defeated.”

“Like that is ever going to happen, now Harry Potter is gone.”

Hermione winced at the mention of her best friend. 

“We are already closer than you think. Killing the snake was a huge deal, and I’ll explain why tomorrow, when we are less tired and emotional. We have a resistance effort going on here, a resurgence of the Order of the Phoenix, and unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on which way you look at it, you’re going to have to join us. You’ve been inside this house, and therefore by default you’ve become a Secret-Keeper.”

“That’s fine. I have no intention of running out. I’ll do whatever you need to me to do.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“We need clothes though, Hermione,” she grimaced.

“We’ll get them. I’ll speak to Professor Snape tomorrow.”

“Snape? What will that bastard do for us?”

“He’s on our side, Orla.”

Orla sat up straight in bed, her eyes wide, knocking one of the pillows to the floor in her scrambled haste. 

“He never is?”

“He always has been,” Hermione murmured, snuggling down into her own pillows and pulling the covers under her chin in an attempt to warm away the chill that was pervading through her bones. 

“But, he was using you? Like Yaxley was with me?”

Hermione shook her head, a tight smile on her lips, not wanting it to look like she was gloating that she’d received the better treatment. 

“He never once hurt me. We were pretending.”

Orla’s mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish. 

“Well. Well I never did. Professor Snape a good wizard? I’d never have believed it. Let’s hope he doesn’t get in the shite with Voldemort then, you know, after you killed the snake and Apparated out with me. If you’re supposed to belong to him, the Death Eaters might think he had something to do with what you did,” she reasoned, sliding back down in her bed and under her own covers.

Hermione blew out the candle and wished her tentative new friend a good night, her mind now spinning with Orla’s last statement. 

How could she have not thought of this before? 

It wouldn’t have changed her actions, of course, the snake needed to be killed; the arrival of the Sword of Gryffindor was testament to that, but how would this reflect on Snape? She had left him there among the Death Eaters in that cold cellar; the Dark Lord and his dying final Horcrux before him. It was entirely possible, probable even, that he would be forced to bear some blame or responsibility for her actions. 

Hermione closed her eyes, desperate for the sweet release of sleep, for she would not be able to find out anything until Snape contacted them, which would hopefully be tomorrow. There was only a finite amount of time before his double-strength compulsion curse began to affect him.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Please?” mocked Voldemort. “Please what, Severus?”
> 
> “Please lift the curse, My Lord, I beg you.”
> 
> “I do not need to lift the curse, Severus. You simply need to seek out your Mudblood to satisfy it. You are not a prisoner here. In fact, here is your wand. You may leave at any time.”

Severus stared Voldemort hard in the eyes, trying to gauge whether the vile demon genuinely suspected him, or if he just wanted to remind his lowly servant who was in charge. Snape had no doubt that the Dark Lord would have set the wards to only allow him to Apparate away if he intended to seek Miss Granger, which meant that if he were not to expose their collaboration, he was effectively trapped here, unless Voldemort died and all his curses and wards expired with him. 

What was to stop him, Severus thought, stop him casting an Avada Kedavra right here upon the wretched wizard? He was now fully mortal after the destruction of his final Horcrux, it would be almost too easy.

But he should wait, not act too hastily. For all he knew, there could be a legion of Death Eaters upstairs just laying in wait for them, ready to leap to the defence of their leader, or to rent retribution upon Severus should he assassinate him - in the form of permanent imprisonment in Azkaban, or worse, which would be of no help to Miss Granger or the other members of the Order. No, he must discover more about the situation in which he found himself before taking any action that would be contrary to what the Dark Lord expected. 

Voldemort turned away from him in a swish of silken black robes and made for the staircase, with Severus following him, as if he were nothing but a meek pet, leaving the dead body of the huge snake on the cellar floor. His wand was securely held in his sleeve and he could have it in his hand in a trice, if needed. The stone steps gave way to an ornate staircase after one floor, and they ascended another level, entering a large, lavish parlour with a blazing fire in the grate and several armchairs and chaise longue set around the room. 

Severus took a glass of wine unwillingly from the tray that was offered by a naked witch; either a paid whore or yet another Muggle-born, taken as a slave. 

“Shall we sit, Severus?”

“I do not wish to sit, My Lord. It is the middle of the night, and I would be most grateful if you would allow me to return to Hogwarts. There is no need for you to test me, I remain as loyal to you as I always was.”

“You are very nearly insolent, Severus,” Voldemort replied, twirling his wand in his fingers, the wand that had been Dumbledore’s; the words dripping threat as they rolled from his tongue. “Make yourself comfortable. It is likely to be a long day for you, but one where you will irrevocably prove your loyalty to me, and to my administration.”

Severus remembered the days of torture he had suffered when Albus had ordered him to return to the Dark Lord’s side after his attempt to kill Harry Potter during the final task of the Tri-Wizard tournament had gone so hideously wrong. He was so near death when he was finally deposited back at the castle gates that it had taken all the magical skill of Madam Pomfrey, Albus and Minerva to repair the threads of his shattered body and save his life. Was that experience not enough to prove his loyalty to the Dark Lord?

He had murdered Dumbledore. On his instruction and under their agreement, of course, but Voldemort did not know that. Was that not sufficient to prove his loyalty? 

Snape settled himself into a chair across the room, for it seemed they were indeed going through with this charade. Voldemort knowing that he would not leave, and Severus knowing that the Dark Lord would want to see how far towards death and insanity he could push him. He had just reached for a book on the side table when he felt a curse hit his body, and instantly felt the blood rush to his groin, making his dick swell at an alarming rate. 

He looked up to see Voldemort lowering his wand, a gleam of evil delight in his red eyes. 

“A little addition to your gift, Severus. I see no reason to prolong this experience unnecessarily.”

“I shall not be leaving the premises, My Lord,” he replied, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his tone steady. “As I advised you, I have no idea where the Mudblood has fled to. I can only throw myself upon your generosity and beseech you to remove the curse, since I have no way of satisfying its demands.”

Severus picked up the book he had been reaching for, wondering how many hours there were until dawn, and how long this battle of wills would last, whilst trying to ignore the pulse in his trousers, and not think of her. 

-xxx-

Hermione and Orla were in the Grimmauld Place kitchen, Orla happily holding baby Teddy cradled in her arms as Remus heated his bottle. The crack of elf Apparition surprised them all, apart from Remus. 

“This is the time that the house-elf deputised from the Hogwarts kitchens brings my breakfast each morning,” he explained, taking the tray from the earnest-looking creature with a few words of thanks. 

Rather than cracking out again, the elf approached Hermione, taking a tiny package from its pocket and holding it out to her. She took it, and with a snap of the elf’s fingers, it increased in size to that of a large suitcase, which she instantly dropped to the floor with the weight of it, narrowly avoiding the small elf’s bare feet. It nodded, and cracked away without a word. 

She bent down to the dropped case and heaved it on to the table top, unlatching it and exclaiming with delight as she saw what appeared to be all her own property from her dormitory at Hogwarts inside, with a note on the top, written in Professor McGonagall’s familiar hand. 

 

"Hermione

As I have now been made Acting Headmistress of Hogwarts in Severus’ absence, advised to me in the middle of the night by a most unwilling Walden Macnair, along with a brief summary of what happened to Draco Malfoy, and your actions. I can only presume that you have taken yourself and Miss Roach to your home, so I have taken the liberty of sending house-elves to collect all the belongings in your respective dormitories. 

Please tell Remus that I will contact him by Floo this evening to discuss developments, once I have ensconced myself in Severus’ office and made arrangements to cover my classes, and attempted to find out more as to what has happened to him. 

Minerva"

 

“She’s sent our things!” Hermione exclaimed, throwing the lid of the suitcase open flat so that Orla could also see inside. 

“Mine too?” Orla asked, standing up with the baby in the arms and walking around the table. 

“Unless this Hufflepuff Quidditch jumper is mine, then yes,” she smiled, passing her new friend the yellow-and-black woollen garment, to the Irish girl’s obvious delight. 

“Look, Teddy,” Orla whispered to the oblivious baby, “this is Hufflepuff. It’s the best house! Maybe you’ll be a Hufflepuff when you get to Hogwarts!”

“Don’t let Remus hear you say that,” Hermione teased. “He’ll want his son to be a red-blooded Gryffindor.”

Remus turned towards them, bringing Teddy’s bottle over to the table, a sad look upon his face. 

“I’d be more than happy with either,” he told both girls. “Teddy’s mother was a Hufflepuff, and I could have never hoped for a braver, more capable witch. Would you like to feed him, Orla?”

“I’d love to,” she replied, sitting down and taking the bottle, slipping it gently and surprisingly competently into the baby’s waiting mouth. 

Hermione continued pulling things from the suitcase, delighted to find all her books, and the purple beaded bag with the extension charm that had proved invaluable during their months on the run. 

“Most of this is mine, Orla. Did you not have much at school?”

“I only came the night before, remember, responding to the radio summons for reinforcements? I had nothing apart from the clothes I stood up in. I cobbled together some uniform from the other Hufflepuff girls, including two that were killed during the battle.”

“I understand that. I used all of Lavender Brown’s old uniform.”

“All of my stuff, clothes and shoes; everything, is at the Muggle flat that Draco and I were sharing. How can I get that back? I’m thinking it will be too dangerous for any of us to show our faces outside of this protective building?”

“You think correctly,” replied Remus, sitting at the table and sending Hermione’s things back into the suitcase, closing it, and banishing it upstairs. “We need to eat, and therefore need some table space,” he told them, in way of explanation. 

McGonagall must have instructed the elf to bring food for three, rather than the usual single portion, and Remus soon had the table spread with delicious Hogwarts breakfast food, and they tucked in, Orla quite happily taking bites of toast from Lupin’s hand as she refused to let go of Teddy, whom she seemed quite happy feeding. Hermione watched them discreetly as she ate her own breakfast - it was the first time she’d seen a smile on either of their faces for a long time. 

“I suggest our next move should be to contact Charlie,” he said. “Fleur will be at work shortly, and I would not want to give her extra tasks anyway. Charlie has nothing to do at present, and I am sure he will be more than willing to return to your flat and collect your belongings, and tie up any loose ends you have there.”

“Loose ends?” Orla asked him. 

“You cannot return there, Orla. You will need to write notes of resignation to your employer, and return the keys to your flat. Was Draco employed?”

Her eyes returned to their former, saddened look and she nodded. 

“He was. He had found a wonderful new career as a Muggle tattoo artist. You should have seen what he produced – his artwork was outstanding.”

Remus nodded gravely in understanding. 

“Then you will also need to instruct Charlie to contact his employer, also.”

“I will. But who is this Charlie that you speak of?”

“Charlie Weasley,” interjected Hermione. “He’s the second oldest brother of the Weasley family. He was the only one who wasn’t killed … you know, that day in the courtyard. Well, you saw what happened to them.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek, never far away when she though of that awful day when Voldemort had destroyed everything she’d held dear in the world. 

“Moving forwards, Hermione”, Remus said, gently. “We cannot turn back time, as much as we would like to.”

“I know. I know that,” she sniffed, wiping away the sole tear and shoving a piece of toast in her mouth instead, washing it down with a swig of pumpkin juice. 

-xxx-

Once breakfast had been cleared, and the containers washed and ready for the elf to take back when it delivered their evening meal, Remus took Teddy upstairs to get both himself and his son washed and ready for the day. In truth, the sight of the two young witches clad in nothing but his old t-shirts that barely covered their bottoms as they walked around the kitchen was rather distracting, he was only a mere wizard, after all, and he fervently hoped that each would find something in the suitcase that Minerva had sent to cover themselves before he found himself thought of as a disgusting old pervert.

Remus smiled to himself with a slight sadness as he thought of Sirius and James, who would have had far more to say about the presence of two scantily-clad girls in the Black kitchen. In their younger days they’d each have had one witch on their lap before the coffee had been poured, and he imagined them looking at him now, rolling their eyes and shaking their heads at their friend’s pathetic lack of action. 

Like he’d be interested. Hermione was like a daughter to him, and he thought with a shudder at the indisputable fact that she had been repeatedly sleeping with Snape. The other girl had just been through the most hellish experience in her life. Besides, nothing but thoughts of Tonks and his love for her had any business being in his head, he mused, looking at their tiny infant son kicking his little legs as he lay in the centre of the large bed. 

Heading downstairs, Lupin could hear the girls wandering around, hopefully getting washed and dressed, and they now appeared to have moved into separate rooms, for the noises were coming from different places along the first-floor hallway, rather than the second-floor room that they had shared the night before. That made sense. They were both now here indefinitely, as was he, they might as well make themselves at home. In truth, he was pathetically grateful for their company, and realised this must have been how Sirius had felt, hiding in Grimmauld Place all alone, for all that time. No wonder he had craved adventure, but it was a crying shame his best friend had got himself killed for the simple want of an outing. 

Once in the kitchen, he placed Teddy in the cradle he kept there, and stuck his head into the fire to call Charlie at Shell Cottage, through the Floo. As predicted, the remaining Weasley was at a loose end, and stepped through to the Grimmauld kitchen almost immediately, with that annoyingly cute dragon under his arm, coughing and spluttering as it exited the Floo. Really, Garth was lucky he hadn’t grown any more – a dragon who hated fire and ash? As Charlie had said, he wouldn’t have lasted a minute amongst his own kind. 

Calling upstairs to summon Hermione and Orla to the kitchen, he returned to find Garth sitting sentry by Teddy’s cradle, looking rather pleased with himself and his self-imposed responsibilities. He was also snaffling the leftover sausages from breakfast that Remus had planned to eat in a sandwich for lunch, but Remus found he couldn’t complain, that tiny dragon had a way of getting away with all sorts of saucy behaviour. 

Orla had spent time writing letters to her and Draco’s employers, using a Muggle biro and a notepad that had arrived in the suitcase sent from Minerva. She’d also given Charlie precise directions to the street where the shops they’d worked at were located, told him exactly where her flat was, and given him the door key to return to the landlady. 

They’d sat in awkward silence once Charlie had Apparated from the back garden, leaving Garth in their care, who had whined plaintively for five minutes after his master left the room, but had soon been placated by some fuss and attention from the girls, and the change to get up close with Teddy as Remus held him with his arms. 

Lupin wasn’t sure that being licked on the forehead by a tiny dragon was ever in his and Tonks’ plans for experiences they’d wished their son to have, but Remus had to admit it gave him a certain amount of pleasure, especially when Teddy inadvertently turned his hair green to match Garth’s scaly skin. No doubt he’d be morphing a pair of golden horns as he grew older and became more able to control his manifesting magic. At present, at little over eight weeks old, Teddy’s hair colour seemed to be the only thing he could change, and it appeared to be fairly random, usually staying a firm shade of blue. 

“That had better not be Ravenclaw blue,” Tonks used to say, as the three of them cuddled up on the sofa together in those very early days. “Only Hufflepuff or Gryffindor for our boy, I’m certain of it.”

Remus had agreed, like he agreed with most things that his wife said. 

Hermione had taken herself off to the Black library, now her library, he reminded himself, leaving him alone with Orla in the kitchen, and the girl seemed equally enamoured with Teddy as with Garth. He found himself happy to have someone new to talk to, and tried his best to keep a conversation going. 

Seeming to be a typical Puff, Orla had love for everything, and had asked him some exquisitely painful questions about Tonks, but surprisingly he’d found himself willing to answer, to expand and talk, to have someone just listen to him talk about his late wife. He shared how their relationship had taken a long time to start, all his own fault, he’d smiled, but once he’d accepted her feelings, it had been the most intense but beautiful relationship. 

Remus had asked Orla about Draco, with no guilt, since she’d been so personal with her own questions, but she’d been non-committal, saying that she’d liked him very much, but their time together had been so short it was difficult to tell if it would have come to anything more. They’d been growing closer, but it had been cruelly curtailed. Given the revelation of her true parentage, that had surely been for the best. 

“Do you think that Lucius Malfoy will now seek you out, to claim you as his daughter?”

“Bloody hell, Remus, I hope not. Gerard Roach was and always will be my father. I didn’t look anything like him, but I just presumed I favoured my mother, whom I looked just like. The only good thing is that I can no longer be persecuted for being a Muggle-born, maybe that is the silver lining, and that it seems Yaxley may be punished for what he did to me. But a father-daughter relationship, when Draco and I had been sleeping together? No, I don’t think so, plus there is his wife to consider.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste, as the back door clattered and Charlie Weasley entered the kitchen, two filled black rubbish sacks in his hands, and his curly ginger hair flying everywhere. He pushed the bags in her direction and held out his arms for the wing-flapping dragon that had leapt up at the sight of him and was lurching his way across the kitchen with his usual unsteady gait, towards him. Charlie picked Garth up and allowed the creature to lick his face in welcome before seating himself at the table. 

“Did you have any problems?” Orla asked him, opening the tops of the bags and peeking inside. 

“Not really. I spoke to that Brenda woman, returning your key and telling her I’d cleared the flat, but she was very suspicious, kept asking me to confirm you were alright.”

“She cares about me.”

“She really does. But I told her that you’d had to return home to Ireland unexpectedly and wouldn’t be returning. I gave her your letter of resignation, and she sent you this – the rest of your wages.”

“That was kind of her.”

“There’s not a lot you can do with it, as its Muggle money, but Fleur can change it up at Gringotts for you, I’m sure. The tattoo parlour was actually trickier. Draco’s boss seemed really upset when I told him that Draco had been killed in a car accident. I swear he cried, and he sent this book of Malfoy’s designs that he’d been working on, seemed to think you’d want them,” Charlie told her, pulling a folder from inside his jacket. 

Orla turned the pages slowly, gasping at the intricacy and beauty of the designs. 

“They really are very good,” Remus told her, peering over her shoulder.

“He was exceptionally talented,” she replied. “I’m going to take everything upstairs, and just … take some time. Look though this book, I think. Is that ok, do you need me for anything?”

“It is fine, Orla,” he replied. “Take all the time you need. We do not know how we are to proceed yet, until we hear from Severus or Minerva.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” he said, once Orla had left the room. “Having all her things will mean a great deal to her, hopefully make her feel more settled. It seems she has been through an awful lot, the last few weeks.”

“It was no big deal,” Charlie shrugged. “It’s not as if I have anything else to do. During the day I do some housework, play with Garth, and make sure dinner is ready for Fleur when she gets home from the bank. When night falls, I try and get out on the beach if its deserted. I’m practising my Animagus form, and let’s just say its not something that my sister-in-law wants in the house. She’s made that quite clear already.”

“What are you?” asked Remus, curiously, thinking of Padfoot and Prongs, and even Wormtail, and their exploits during their golden schooldays to become Animagi to support him during his forced transformations.

“What do you think I am?” Charlie asked, grinning merrily. 

“You’re a bloody dragon, aren’t you?”

“Of course, I am! A great big one, that breathes real fire, which has taken me months to perfect, out in the sanctuary. I’m almost there, too, just trying to rid myself of the huge tuft of red hair that is still on my head once I’ve transformed. It just feels … incredible. I’ve been working on it for years. It took a whole year to learn to fly, once I’d transformed. Sweeping across the ocean by the light of the moon … I love it. It makes me feel free.”

“I can understand that. My own transformations are rather less pleasant,” he replied ruefully. 

“It’s nearly the full moon, isn’t it, mate?”

“Very nearly. You and Fleur are still happy to take Teddy? I also think that Hermione and Orla should not be in the house. Just in case the cellar is not enough to secure me. It worked last month, but I was alone in the house. I am not aware of what I do when transformed, but I am concerned that I may pick up on their scents and attempt to free myself from the cellar.”

“Understood. At the end of the week, yes? I’ll come over and pick them all up. You’ll send all Ted’s stuff with him?”

“Of course. With written instructions for feeding.”

“Got it. I’ll be getting back now, time for this one’s nap,” he said, indicating Garth with a quirk of his red eyebrows. 

Remus raised his eyebrows. This dragon took naps, like a baby?

“I’ll be fine with Teddy, Lupin, you’ll see.”

He didn’t doubt it. 

-xxx-

Severus lay on the mattress in the cold cellar, for which he was now inordinately glad of since his body temperature was now so high. He had entertained some wildly optimistic thoughts of attacking Voldemort when he next returned to the cellar to gloat over his distress, but since the fucking bastard had taken his wand, he’d be only left with his wandless magic or his bare fists, neither of which were particularly strong since his body was currently overcome with intense sexual arousal, and he was fighting with every bit of his strength not to grab his cock and start wanking, because once he started that, the inability to come would signal his descent into agonised madness.

The Dark Lord had forced him down to the cellar with a brief but powerful Imperius curse as the compulsion had taken hold, and he had rolled on to the floor from the chair he’d been trying to stay seated in, complaining that Snape’s moans of pleasure were causing him distress. He’d visited him twice since, coming no nearer than the top of the stairs. 

Pleasure? Pleasure? If the deranged arsehole thought he was making noises of pleasure then he was as sick in the head as Severus had always presumed Tom Riddle to be. 

He was distraught and pained, curled up in agony with unfulfilled curse symptoms. Visions of Granger were dancing through his head, unbidden, as much as he tried to ignore them, to force his mind elsewhere. This was as bad as the first night in his office, where he had rubbed his cock raw seeking completion, pain wracking his body, and desperation making breathing a struggle. And then what had happened? His personal Nimue had come through the panelled door from his private bedchamber and bestowed her full attentions on him, taking his cock from his own hand and replacing it with her own, wanking him to a blissful orgasm, despite her inexperience, despite his protestations to leave him. 

And then. Then he had lain her across his desk and unknowingly delivered her first-ever climax with his sharp tongue, the memory of her soft, wet bumps and holes had felt under his tongue causing his cock to pulse, reminding him how he had let his mind slip once again. He wrenched open his trousers and pushed his undershorts down, freeing his swollen prick from its confines before it exploded under the pressure. He would not touch it, though. He would not. 

-xxx-

Hermione had been in the Black library all day. She’d heard Remus and Orla coming and going around the house, but she just needed her solitude from the insanity of the last few weeks. By mutual agreement; she and Orla had agreed to choose a room each, since they were going to be here for some time, indefinitely even, so they might as well settle in and enjoy not being in a dormitory for once. 

She had chosen the master bedroom on the first-floor, surprised that Remus had not already claimed it, but supposed since she was now the legal owner of this old house, she was entitled to it. The room was empty of all detritus except furniture since Molly Weasley’s fevered bout of cleaning a few years ago, but she’d needed to use her wand to clear the layer of dust and mustiness that had encroached upon the room since then. 

Finding bedlinens in a cupboard down the hall, she’d freshened them using a charm, and made up the large bed, and it was no coincidence that the imposing dark wood four-poster reminded her of Snape’s bed in the headmasters’ chambers. Now in possession of all her clothes and belongings, she decanted these into wardrobes and drawers, trying her best to imagine that she was settling into her new home. 

Not hearing Charlie return with Orla’s belongings, Hermione had remained in another world in the library, lost in an exquisite piece of wizarding fiction that she’d not had the pleasure of reading before. She’d brushed Lupin away when he’d come to fetch her for dinner, reporting that only an elf had arrived with the food as usual, no other visitors, and she’d told him she preferred to devour the book rather than a meal. 

The compulsion came upon her long after she’d heard Orla and Remus head upstairs to their respective bedrooms for the night. It was so fast that she barely had time to note its approach before she began to feel the familiar wetness between her legs, her stomach lurch, and her genitals begin to pulse.

Shit. 

Hermione left the library, taking the book with her, and headed upstairs, thinking that the bed in her private room would be the best place to deal with the embarrassment that the compulsion was likely to cause. 

Snape had not been to Grimmauld Place today, nor had McGonagall been in touch. What was happening? He must be compelled by now, unless … unless he had persuaded Voldemort to lift the curse. But then there was the alternative – what if he was compelled but being prevented from seeking her out? McGonagall had said in her note that she’d been made Acting Headmistress. What did that mean? Was Snape still with Voldemort? He would know that she would have headed straight for Grimmauld Place, no doubt about that, so there must be something stopping him coming here. If they could not satisfy the curse … it would mean certain eventual death for them both, a slow painful descent into the insanity of unassuaged sexual need. 

Hermione threw off her clothes and jumped into bed, pulling the heavy bedcovers around her, trying to block out the reality of what was happening. If she got to sleep quickly enough, maybe she could buy herself some more time – buy Snape some more time to get to her. 

-xxx-

Severus was now naked on the old mattress, any clothing unbearable, writhing in sweet agony. His cock was painfully erect, dripping pre-cum at the head, and red raw from where he had been unable to stop himself from masturbating. His forehead was laced with sweat, and his shoulders shook with cold and unfulfilled sexual desire – the compulsion was hard at work and doing its best to drive him to insanity. 

He looked up at the wizard who held his life in his hands, standing halfway down the stairs, still apparently fearful of getting too near.

“My Lord, please,” he croaked, having had nothing to eat or drink for well over twenty-four hours now, the second dawn of his incarceration just beginning, he had seen the grey light or morning as the cellar door had been opened and Voldemort had swept down the stairs towards him. 

“Please?” mocked Voldemort. “Please what, Severus?”

“Please lift the curse, My Lord, I beg you.”

“I do not need to lift the curse, Severus. You simply need to seek out your Mudblood to satisfy it. You are not a prisoner here. In fact, here is your wand. You may leave at any time.”

He threw Severus’ ebony wand to the floor beside the mattress with a clatter. 

“I cannot, My Lord. I know not where she has gone. I know nothing of her actions.”

“So, you tell me. But I cannot yet be certain. I shall return in due course. I have not yet seen enough proof of your loyalty.”

He turned to leave.

“My Lord! Surely you cannot mean to let me die from this compulsion! I have so much still to do in my service of you.”

“You speak the truth, Severus. I shall consider that.”

The Dark Lord left the cellar without another word, leaving Severus groaning in pained frustration, thinking only of Miss Granger, and how he needed her touch more than he needed air. How long would it be before the girl’s compulsion also hit her, and she was left in the same state?


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Severus will return to you, Hermione, if it is within his power to do so.”

Hearing Lupin clomp noisily down the Grimmauld Place stairs whilst singing a tuneless rendition of a strange ditty, hopefully to the baby, that must have come straight from the pages of Beedle the Bard, was not the way that Hermione had wanted to be woken.   
She’d hoped to sleep late, marking time until Snape’s return with as little discomfort from curse-related symptoms as possible. 

Surprisingly, she had managed to sleep, no doubt due to the lack of sleep the night before, but her dreams had been filled with images of her dark former professor, and had been distinctly erotic in nature. Her stomach was still tugging with arousal, and wriggling her thighs together, she could feel that the skin there was copiously wet with her emissions that must have been flowing through the night. 

Her skin felt flushed, her face and neck particularly hot, and she flapped the sheets over herself ineffectively, before remembering there was a better way to cool down - grabbing her wand and casting a cooling charm over her entire body. 

What the hell was she supposed to do now? She was embarrassed, but also terrified of how bad the painful arousal would get. Even the thought of putting clothes on was an unpleasant one, and would no doubt only get worse. Hermione twisted and turned in the bed, trying to get comfortable, the most wanton of thoughts running unbidden through her head. 

She could not help but think of the way his deep, devastatingly quiet voice would spill the most incredible filth when they were intimate together, words strung together in a way she never could have dreamed of, enticing her further, pushing her higher, drawing out the pleasure for them both. His sexual experience was so apparent, compared to her zero, but he’d never once made her feel stupid, incompetent or undesirable. Quite the opposite, in fact. 

Hermione wondered how this older wizard, this sullen man who had emotionally tortured her and her friends for seven years from the front of his classroom, could have become the centre of her universe. Not just because of the compulsion, but for simply being who he was. Snape had hidden his true self for so long, from so many, and she felt that when they were alone together, he was showing her who he truly was. 

Or perhaps he wasn’t. Perhaps she was just being fanciful, seeing what she wanted to see, because it made her feel somehow better about what they were being compelled to do. 

But, bloody hell, she needed him now. She needed his body, his mouth, his words, his touch to satisfy her compulsion and release her from this physical turmoil she was currently wracked with, but also, she just wanted him here, with her, caring for her, providing that steady, reliable presence she had become accustomed to since that fateful night of the battle of Hogwarts. 

Orla knocked on her door to ask if she wanted breakfast, but Hermione ignored her, hoping the girl would go away, thinking she was asleep.

She rolled over and groaned, closing her legs over the eiderdown and rubbing herself on the thick quilt, desperate for any kind of relief – the gnawing ache between her legs like a yawning chasm that only he could fill. 

-xxx-

Minerva came through the Floo not long after the Hogwarts elf had delivered breakfast. Teddy had been fed and was kicking his little legs in the kitchen cradle, so he and Orla were seated at the table enjoying eggs and bacon, and the usual pumpkin juice that was so welcome. Hermione had not come down, and Orla had told him she’d called her but received no reply, and had presumed she was still asleep, so they’d left her. It was slightly concerning since she’d had no dinner the night before, either, so Remus resolved to keep a close eye on her. He would pop up and see her after breakfast to check that all was well. 

“Good morning, Remus, and to you, Orla,” Minerva greeted, as she stepped through the green flames and into the Grimmauld kitchen, and they both noted the surprise on Orla’s face. 

“Minerva is one of us,” he advised her, and many more who you will meet in due course.”

“Wow,” Orla replied, her toast half way to her mouth. “I had no idea. I wish I’d known …”

“The school was not a safe place to have that kind of conversation, dear,” Minerva reassured. “You did what you felt was right, and it probably was. I was very sorry to hear of the death of Mr Malfoy.”

Orla nodded in acknowledgement, but did not say anything further as Minerva seated herself at the table. 

“Remus, I cannot stay long, I have no doubt that my every move is being watched, so tell me quickly, what on earth is going on?”

He filled her in with a truncated version of everything that Hermione and Orla had told him, including the death of the snake and the disappearance of Severus. Her face became more and more lined with concern and dismay as he went on. 

“No doubt,” she said, through disapproving, pursed lips, “the Dark Lord blames Severus for what Hermione did. She was, after all, meant to be under his control.”

“Have you been told that your appointment to Headmistress is permanent?” Remus asked. 

“I have not. Macnair advised me that I would be covering the role for an interim period, not stating whether Severus would be returning or if a new Head was being sought.”

“Surely we cannot just wait and see what happens?” he asked. “If Severus is being held, I feel that we should make every effort to find him.”

“I’m not sure, Remus. Voldemort is extremely cunning, and Severus knows him well. There have been so many occasions before when Severus was being held, and Albus and I did not know if he would return. But he always did. He’d been tortured and ill-treated, yes, but he always returned.”

Remus didn’t feel this sounded particularly fair, but he would struggle to think of a better plan just at this moment. 

“I would suggest,” Minerva continued, “that it would not be prudent to call an Order meeting immediately. As I said, I have no doubt that I am being closely watched, and that if I leave the castle, or spend too long alone in my office with the door locked, that it will raise suspicion.”

“I agree,” he replied, reluctantly, as she got up to leave.

“After all, there is no urgent reason why Severus needs to return, especially if he is playing out his role before Voldemort. He will not thank us for getting involved, revealing ourselves, and blowing his cover,” she concluded, nodding her goodbyes at both himself and Orla before heading back through the Floo to her office. 

No urgent reason. 

No urgent reason …

Shit. 

Leaving Orla watching over Teddy, Remus took the creaky old stairs two at a time, bounding up them and down the first-floor hallway towards the master bedroom that Hermione had claimed as her own, and knocked hard on the door. No answer. He knocked again. 

“Hermione, if you are not asleep, I beg you answer me. I have remembered, terribly late, but I have remembered the curse that you and Severus were under. Are you suffering? Please, tell me. Can I come in?”

There was a pause, before he heard a muffled cry that he thought had answered his question in the affirmative, so he slowly opened the bedroom door, and the covers were moving, as if she had just flung them over herself. Approaching the bed, he could see that her face was flushed with guilt and shame, and the poor girl looked as if she’d been having astounding sex all night, so flustered was she. She must be mortified – it was imperative that he handle this gently, and with compassion. 

“Are you suffering with the symptoms of the compulsion curse that the two of you told me about?”

She nodded, and tears began to spill from her eyes, down her temples and into her curly hair, that was wild around her head as if she’d been writhing around. 

“Is there anything that you can do yourself to relieve it?” he asked, attempting to phrase his question of whether she could masturbate, in the most polite, non-embarrassing way, although there was no easy way to ask something so bloody personal. 

Hermione shook her head, and he swallowed hard, knowing that he would have to ask the next question. 

“I apologise, please forgive me, but is there anything I can do to relieve your symptoms? I appreciate that would be awkward, but you seem …”

“Remus,” she said, thankfully interrupting his stream of mortifying babble. “The curse is keyed only between Professor Snape and myself. He is the only one who can stop … this.”

“Shit,” was all that he could reply. 

“Shit, indeed,” she agreed, gritting her teeth as what appeared to be another wave of … whatever it was, ran through her. 

“Hermione, we have no idea where he is.”

She looked crestfallen, but her eyes were brave. 

“Then just leave me up here, please don’t check on me, I can’t bear the embarrassment. I’ll cast a silencing charm too, and ward you all out. There is absolutely nothing you can do.”

“Do you wish me to try and remove the curse? I mean, it’s unlikely, but maybe even a simple Finite …?”

“You cannot. We have already tried everything. The curse can only be lifted if the caster dies, or if he chooses to lift it.”

Remus had no idea what to do next. What was he supposed to do, just leave her up here in exquisite sexual agony until she died or went insane? 

“Severus will return to you, Hermione, if it is within his power to do so.”

“I know he will,” she replied, a look of complete certainty upon her face. 

“When he arrives here, I will send him to you directly.”

“Thank you.”

With a regret in his heart that felt as heavy as a lead cauldron, Remus left her bedroom, closing the door behind him, hearing the fizz of the silencing charm and the wards as she set them. Not for the first time, he felt completely and utterly helpless. 

-xxx-

Severus was struggling to breathe normally, so tight was his chest, even though he had removed all his clothes in a vain attempt to ease his symptoms. He had managed to use his wand to conjure Aguamenti, despite having no vessel to hold the water, but he’d been able to catch some with his mouth and relieve his parched lips and tongue, and also covered his body in the cold water, lowering his heated temperature, albeit temporarily. 

Voldemort had visited twice more, each time crowing over his exhausted physical state, and insisting that Severus still needed to do more to prove himself. The second time, no daylight had shone down the stairwell, so he presumed it was now night time again, that darkness had fallen, marking another full day he had been in this agony. 

Granger had to be suffering too, now. She would be relying on him to get to her – they were both now at the mercy of the Dark Lord, not a great place to be at the best of times. 

Severus remembered the night he had returned to the Death Eaters, the night, well, multiple nights, that he had been tortured to the brink of death by this madman. He had survived that, when he had thought all was lost. He could survive this. He had to survive this. 

He would prove his loyalty to this wizard, unquestionably, and then he would return to the school, and continue his attempt to rid the world of this tyrant and all his vile followers. If he wasn’t driven to insanity, first. 

-xxx-

Orla looked around the small seaside cottage that Remus had brought her to. This was the home of Fleur Weasley, the young widow of the oldest Weasley son, who had been killed at the battle of Hogwarts. A small, blonde witch, with a slight swelling of early pregnancy around her middle, she was polite and welcoming, and Orla remembered her from the Tri-Wizard tournament in her fourth year, when the delegation had arrived from Fleur’s school, Beauxbatons. She had been Fleur Delacour in those days. 

Charlie, the second-oldest Weasley and the man who had retrieved her belongings, was living with his sister-in-law in Shell Cottage, along with the tiny dragon, Garth, that Orla was fast taking a great liking to. Along with Lupin’s baby, Teddy, it was nice to have small, cute things to coo over in the midst of all this darkness and horror. 

Hermione was ill, Remus had told her, and would be remaining at Grimmauld Place whilst they ate dinner here. Charlie always cooked for Fleur, it had been part of their agreement, apparently, and the wild boar casserole with thick gravy and hearty dumplings was enjoyed by all, and she felt like licking her plate it was so delicious. 

She looked wistfully out of the window as the sun began to sink below the horizon. The beach looked so beautiful, and she itched to run down to the sea and dip her toes in the surf. Feeling someone step up behind her, Orla turned slightly, seeing that it was the curly red hair of Charlie who had come to join her. 

“Want to go out?”

“Desperately. But I can’t, can I?”

“Hmmm, not really,” he replied, grinning and taking her hand, “but a short time can’t hurt. Remus?”

They looked over at Lupin, his tiny son asleep over his shoulder, as if asking a father for permission to go out to play. 

“It’s not the best idea, Charlie,” he warned. 

“We’ll be back inside, first sign of trouble. Garth, no, you stay here. You’re not coming out. Only at night time, remember, kid?”

Fleur picked up the little Longhorn, who was now wearing a rather sulky expression, that made him look even cuter, rather than conveying any anger. Charlie grabbed Orla’s hand and pulled her to the cottage door, which he unlatched with one hand and continued to drag her down to the beach, both barefooted since Fleur had insisted everyone remove their shoes when they’d entered. 

The wet sand squidged instantly between her toes, cold and tactile. 

“Oh!”

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Charlie grinned, wiggling his own toes in it. 

“It feels so open, so free,” she admitted, twirling around despite herself. 

“Race you to the water’s edge?” he challenged.

She didn’t even confirm before setting off in a run towards the sea, suspecting correctly that Charlie would be much faster than her, and she was not wrong, as in a few seconds he had overtaken her, pounding down the beach with his red hair flying behind him, working its way free from the band that held it in a messy knot at the back of his head. He kicked up sand as he ran, and it was clear he was sprinting full-out, not giving her any chances. 

Even still, she reached the water just a few seconds after he did, and they walked a few steps in to where the waves tumbled over their toes, both panting hard. 

“I’m so unfit,” she grumbled. 

“You’re not the only one,” he wheezed back, a little breathless. “When we were little, I mean really little kids, before the younger ones were born, we would come here and stay with our aunt, this used to be her cottage; and me, Bill and Percy would spend hours charging back-and-forth from the cottage door to the sea, not even breaking a sweat. Old age catches up with us all, I suppose.”

“You’re not old,” she chided.

“Older than you, little girl,” he shot back, good-naturedly.

“I haven’t felt like a little girl for a long time,” Orla replied, not sure why she was trying to bring down the light-hearted conversation. 

“I’m sure you haven’t. You’ve been through a hell of a lot, kid, from what I’ve heard.”

“We all have.”

“I suppose we have,” he replied, and she presumed Charlie must be thinking of his own terrible loss - both parents, his sister, and all his brothers killed on the same dreadful day. 

Conversation waned as the two of them paddled in the shallows, the dimming of the day creeping up on them as the sun was almost fully sunken beneath the horizon, streaks of orange, red, yellow and pink marking its descent into the night. It was quite stunning, enough to take one’s breath away.

Without a word, Charlie offered his hand to her, indicating the cottage with a rueful flick of his eyebrows. She took it, feeling the skin of his large hand rough and dry over hers, with many callouses that must have been earned during his work at the dragon reservation, that he’d told her about over dinner. 

In truth, she was keen to get back inside the protective environs of the Secret-Kept cottage, however wonderful it had felt to be on the beach. She chanced a look up at this solid bear of a wizard, his red curls blowing sideways in the breeze as they walked back up to the cottage, far slower than they had run down here. Orla liked holding his hand. It was huge, completely unlike Draco’s slim wrists and fingers. 

Her brother, Draco. The less she thought about him, the better. 

-xxx-

Semi-conscious, Severus was barely aware of the Dark Lord standing over him, hovering much nearer than he had dared to before. He had been hallucinating for hours, like a dying man in the desert, desperate for water. All his thoughts were of Granger – on many occasions he had believed her to be here in the cellar prison with him, and had cried bitterly when he’d realised that she was not real, she was not there. 

“I will ask you one more time, Severus,” Voldemort was saying. “Do you wish to leave this house and seek relief from the Mudblood?”

“I cannot, My Lord,” he choked out, with the last of his energy. “I do not know where she has gone.”

His eyes rolled back in his head, and he felt the stab of a sharp Rennervate that the Dark Lord must have cast upon him. Had he finally passed out? Was he dying?

“I have a great many plans that I will need you for, Severus. I am reluctant to let you die, despite the girl who was meant to be under your control killing that which was most precious to me. I trust that I have made my displeasure with you clear?”

“You have … My Lord.”

“You have proved that my faith in you is not misplaced. I shall lift the compulsion curse, for you are not able to fulfil it with the disappearance of the Mudblood. You will seek this girl, Severus, and you will bring her to me, where I will rent my wrath upon her, for what she has taken from me, and for the pain she has caused you.”

“I shall find her,” he spat, trying to inject as much venom into his reply as he could, given his weakened state. “I shall find her, and I shall bring her to you, My Lord.”

“Do not let me down, Severus. I can assure you, you will not like the consequences.”

Voldemort turned around in a billow of robes, sweeping across the room and up the stone steps. When he reached the top, he lifted his wand, and pointed it towards Snape’s wretched, naked body that was lying prostrate on the filthy mattress, and cast. 

To his utter relief, Severus felt the hold of the compulsion leave him, sliding down and out of his body as if it were being flushed out from the top of his head, down his body and out of his toes. His erection softened instantly, and although still red and sore from his frantic masturbating, the pain dissipated. His breathing began to return to normal, and he started to realise just how starving hungry he was, having not eaten for all the days and nights he had been here. How long had he been here?

He pushed himself to sitting, his head light from lack of food, and his limbs trembling. He began to put his clothes back on by hand, not trusting himself with magic, trying to calm himself, and muster enough energy for the Apparition he knew he must use in order to leave the fetid cellar of the Riddle house. 

Fully dressed, and ignoring the body of the giant snake that still lay there, revoltingly close, he picked up his wand from the stone floor, and concentrated with all his power on the centre of his office at the school. He felt the tell-tale pull of Apparition, and this one was particularly inexpert, crushing all the wind out of him as he travelled. 

He landed. Not where he had expected to be, but dumped unceremoniously outside the castle gates in the pitch darkness, barely a window in the castle alight. The wards had been reset. He was no longer recognised as the Headmaster of the school, it was clearly under Minerva’s control now. 

There was now a choice. He could send a Patronus to Minerva and seek entrance, return himself to his office, explain himself to her, retake his position and reset the wards, but all these things would take time. Time, he suspected that he did not have. 

It wasn’t a hard decision to make. 

He mustered his magical energy, again, and Apparated to the back garden of Grimmauld Place, landing with a thump against the kitchen door, which was flung open by Lupin, in his nightwear and juggling a screaming baby under one arm. 

“Where the hell have you been?” the wolf demanded. 

“Another time, Lupin,” he replied, scowling. “Granger, is she suffering?”

“Hermione is wracked with the compulsion curse, and will not allow anyone entry to her room. I have not seen her since early this morning, for she has warded the door to allow no one entry, except yourself. She is in the master bedroom, the fourth door on the first-floor hallway.”

Severus tore through the kitchen, pushing open the door, and ran up the stairs, counting the doors until he found the one he sought, and without knocking, threw it open. The sight that met his eyes as he entered, shattered his heart into a million pieces.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do it, please,” she begged, “Do it now.”

Severus clutched at his chest, completely taken aback by the sight of Granger, naked on the bed, entwined in what appeared to be one of his own voluminous black teaching robes. Her face and much of her body was flushed red with what he instantly recognised was the tight hold of the compulsion. How long had she been in this state for? His own, stronger, compulsion had taken him nearly to the brink of death, necessitating the Dark Lord’s Rennervate, and whilst she was not likely to be at that point, the chances were that she was in extreme discomfort, and had been for some time. 

She looked up as he opened the door, a desperately hopeful look on her face, for she would know that the only person who would have been able to enter was he, if Lupin had advised him correctly, that she had keyed the security ward to deny entry to all others. And no wonder, he thought, looking at the writhing girl, for she would not have wanted Lupin, or anyone else, to see her in this state. 

Severus saw the relief flood her eyes as they met with his own. 

“Do it, please,” she begged, “Do it now.”

“I will do it,” he answered, crossing the room in two strides and clambering onto the bed on his hands and knees, unwrapping her legs from the bind of his robe as he went, pushing them apart and dropping his head straight down into her violently swollen pussy. 

All other questions, such as where the hell she had nabbed one of his teaching robes from, could wait. 

Her thighs were shaking as he held them open, and she screamed at the first touch of his tongue to her genitals, since she was so painfully over-aroused. He allowed the very tip of his tongue to tickle her clitoris, for there was no time for teasing or gradual build-up, and in only a few tiny strokes her juices begun to gush copiously, and she shook with orgasm. 

“Again,” she panted. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

He had no intention of stopping, opening both sides of her labia wide to his view, causing her swollen clit to protrude enough for him to fix his mouth around it, gently sucking it into his mouth between his hungry lips, feasting on her, flickering his tongue across the tip of her hard little bud as he sucked. Less than a minute later she was coming again, her hips thrust high and rigid as she rode out her climax. He waited for her next instruction, for she would know what she needed, and he was there to provide it. All thoughts of food and sleep left his head, and to his extreme shock, he felt himself begin to harden in the face of her extreme enthusiasm for his touch. 

Having an erection wasn’t something he felt he’d ever want again after the agony of the last few nights, but this witch … this witch just did it for him, compelled or not. He could no longer deny it. 

“Sir, could you put your fingers inside me?” she asked, “and … you know … touch me with your other hand while you do so? I haven’t finished, I’m sorry, there’s so much …”

“Do not apologise, Granger. I shall provide whatever relief you need.”

He muttered a wandless spell to unfasten the many buttons on his frock coat, and shrugged it off, throwing it somewhere vaguely in the direction of the bedroom floor, quickly unfastening his cuffs and pushing his shirt sleeves roughly up to his elbows. He transferred from his knees to sitting on his arse, and pulled her down the bed by her bare thighs so that he could reach her easily. 

Sinking two long fingers inside her, he felt tremendously guilty for his own shot of pleasure as her tight walls enveloped his digits, the damp warmth clutching against his invasion like a vice. The tempting little witch moaned and threw her head back as he entered her, pushing her hips upwards to meet him, and murmuring mostly unintelligible words of encouragement and thanks. He began to twist his fingers inside her, thrusting gently, crooking the tips to seek and stroke the spongy bundle of nerves that he knew lay deep inside. 

With his other hand, he pressed on the outside, rubbing against her clitoris as he stimulated her internally. Her hips began to rotate involuntarily, and his eyes roved over her luscious body that was keening with his every touch. He kept up the pressure, beginning to roll and stretch her clit, pulling it away from her body with each circular motion, gently tugging on it as her gasps and pants increased, his cock wanting to burst free and replace his fingers. 

“You are doing wonderfully,” he soothed, as he worked her clit to its climax. “Keep going, you are almost ready to come, you will soon have the relief you crave.”

At his words, she heaved her third orgasm into his waiting hands, as he’d known she would, flooding his fingers with her silky juices, so much that they trickled down the palm of his outstretched hand. He loved it. Merlin, save him, but he loved it. 

Severus allowed Hermione to come down from her peak, breathing heavily, her face, neck and chest all delightfully flushed as he removed his hands and fingers from her. He wanted to hold her to him, but he must be guided by her, as they were now in unfamiliar territory, with only one of them under the compulsion curse. 

Her eyes slightly unfocused, she attempted to meet his own. 

“I need more,” she told him, shakily. 

“Do you wish me to make love to you?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral, but his choice of wording was very deliberate. 

“Yes, please,” she breathed. 

Holy fuck. As if this divine witch would ever have to say please.

He moved her legs gently from his lap and climbed inelegantly from the bed, kicking off his boots and pulling off his black socks whilst sitting on the edge. Standing and turning towards her, he began to unbutton and unzip his trousers, not able to take his eyes from her. Granger extricated herself from the robe that she’d had wrapped around her, tossing it to one side, although the bed was so large that it did not fall to the floor. She pushed herself up the bed and lay on the pillows, her chestnut-coloured brown curls arranging themselves enticingly around her head. He felt a sudden urge to bury his nose in it, to remind himself of the sweet smell of her shampoo, and another, curious scent that was all her. 

The girl was watching him intently as he dropped his trousers, not hiding her interest in the bulge at the front of his undershorts, which he stripped himself of, letting them fall on top of his discarded trousers. Rather than unfasten his shirt as if he was slowly removing his clothes for her searching eyes like a kind of erotic dance, he undid only the top button, then pulled the still-fastened white garment over his head, leaving himself naked in front of her, and allowed her to look, basking in the hot gaze of her approval. 

Severus could no longer continue lying to himself, not now that his own compulsion had been removed. He wanted this witch as badly as he had ever done, compelled or not. 

As she shifted her position slightly, opening her knees to invite him in without having to say the words, he gladly crawled over to her, taking up the now-familiar position in the cradle of her thighs, guiding his eager erection towards her opening with one hand, easing in the large, bulbous head, and then moving up to cover her body with his own, cupping around the back of her head with a strong hand as he slowly pushed the rest of his long penis inside her, savouring each inch, enjoying the feel of her walls tightening along the full length of his cock. 

He remained fully embedded for a few seconds, before seeing the lust flare in her eyes, and he began to pull out, little by little, then tipped his hips to slide himself back in again. And again. And again, and this time the groan of pleasure came from his own throat, as well as Granger’s. 

“May I kiss you, Sir?” she asked, panting lightly along with his thrusts and running her fingertips across his lips. 

“That is not my name,” he growled in reply, gripping the back of her scalp and dropping his face nearer to hers. 

“Severus, please can you …”

Hermione did not get to finish her sentence, since he was only too eager to close the final distance between them and pressed his mouth against hers, moving his jaw to surround her lips with his own, shoving his tongue roughly into her mouth and coiling it around hers with a pace that soon became frenzied, and caused him to speed up the thrusts of his hips as he crammed his cock into her, in wave after wave of lustful pleasure. 

He felt her hands stroke down his back with an affection he wished she truly felt, squeezing handfuls of his flesh as he fucked her, sliding down to grip tightly to his rampaging hips and arse cheeks as he pistoned into her, all thoughts of his sore, tormented cock forgotten, chasing down his own climax. 

The force of his thrusting caused their passionate snogging to disconnect, and he reared up high above her, feeling her lips and tongue on his bare chest as he moved up her body, his hips and thighs trembling with their imminent release. He felt her come yet again, her walls tightening around him as he thrust his last - shooting spurt after spurt of his hot seed inside her as he reached his own orgasm, shouting and snarling as he ensured every last drop that had built up inside his throbbing sacs over the last few nights was securely deposited. 

Fucking hell. 

Feeling himself begin to soften, Severus looked down at the exhausted girl, who finally looked as though she might be sexually satisfied. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, pushing his long hair back from where it was falling into her face. 

“I am fine now, I think,” she replied, and he rolled off, lying on the mattress next to her and pulling the first thing he could reach over them, lest they get cold from the sudden change in body temperature. 

It was his cloak. He had seen her wrapped in it as he’d entered the room, his heart broken seeing her trying to seek physical comfort and assuage her compulsion using an item of his clothing. He covered them both with the voluminous black cloth, and propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her. 

“May I ask from where you procured this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“You left it in my dormitory, you know, the night you visited me, after Parvati died. You didn’t take all your garments with you when you left. I kept it to sleep with. I found that the smell and feel of it comforted me when I was alone. I am sorry. You may have it back.”

“I have a dozen of those robes. If it comforts you, then by all means, keep it.”

Granger lifted her eyes to meet his, no longer full of frantic lust, but her normal, warm brown, all concern and understanding. 

“Where have you been? What happened to you?”

She turned towards him as he began to explain everything that had happened after she’d slain Nagini and Apparated away with Miss Roach. Her face was horror-struck, and on many occasions during his tale she reached out to touch him, either stroking a forearm, squeezing a shoulder, or even once cupping his cheek. 

He told her of the interminable time on the floor of the Riddle House cellar, next to the dead body of the snake, and how close to either insanity or death he had been, trying his best to be factual and not overly dramatic. She’d moved the cloak and tossed it on the floor, using her wand to rearrange the sheets and eiderdown over them neatly, and to stoke up the small bedroom fire to cast light and heat across the room. 

Describing the moment where the Dark Lord had been forced to cast a Rennervate to keep him conscious, she had thrown herself into his arms, crossing the mattress and forcing him to hold her close. 

“You could have died!” she exclaimed, and he could feel her heart beating fast as their naked chests pressed together.

“But I did not,” he replied, “and it meant that the threat of my imminent death scared him. He released me from the compulsion curse, for he had proved his petulant little point, but ultimately, he needs me alive. Not even he is foolish enough to slay a high-ranking, loyal servant who does his every bidding.”

She sat up, holding the bedcovers to her chest. 

“Wait. He released you from the curse?”

“He did, indeed.”

“All that we just did, you were not compelled?”

“I was not,” he confirmed, wondering where this line of questioning was headed. 

“But … but that means …”

“It means, Granger, that you still have the curse upon you, and you will be under its control until we are successful in our mission to kill the Dark Lord.”

“I know, but …”

“All these buts,” he teased, gently smirking. “We will continue as before. I shall visit here often to ensure that you are kept free of curse-related symptoms.”

“That’s hardly fair on you.”

Severus trailed a hand up her bare spine from its base to the nape of her neck, reaching under her hair, and making her visibly shiver. He then used his long fingers to pull her head down towards him, laying her head on his broad shoulder.

“Trust me when I say, girl, that meeting your sexual needs does not concern or inconvenience me in any way. I believe that we agreed previously regarding some level of attraction to one another? That has not changed, on my part, with the dissolution of the compulsion curse. I do not doubt, that were the situation reversed, you would still be willing to assist me.”

He felt her body relax and unclench, and could not help turning his head and planting a light kiss on her soft forehead, fool that he was. 

“If you are now comfortable, I should take my leave. I need to use the Floo to return to Hogwarts, since my headmaster’s privileges have been revoked and I am no longer able to Apparate directly into my office. I shall contact Minerva through your kitchen fireplace.”

“I am comfortable, thank you. I am so grateful you came when you did.”

Severus could not help smirking in a juvenile fashion at her inadvertent double-entendre. 

“As am I,” he drawled, “I wasn’t sure how much longer I could have kept going.”

“What? Oh!”

Granger blushed scarlet, and he could feel the heat of her face on his bare skin. 

“I am sorry. I should not tease you.”

“It’s ok. I don’t mind it, Sir. It shows that you’re human.”

“Such goes the rumour, Granger, and will you please desist from addressing me as Sir? I cannot deny that I find it erotic on one level, but you have now left school and we are equals. Let us try and assimilate ourselves to our new roles with as little awkwardness as possible.”

“I don’t think this will ever not be awkward,” she muttered. 

Given that he had a naked former student cuddling up to his equally naked body, in that student’s bed, in a house he should not be in, in the middle of the night, he had to concur that she had a point. 

“We shall deal with the demands of your compulsion as and when they present themselves. I am hoping that, since you were only ever given a single cast of the curse, that the occasions will be less frequent than before.”

Well, that was a blatant lie. He would consider it an honour to make love to this girl every day for the rest of his life, should she so desire it. 

“I understand, Sir. I mean, Severus.”

Snape gave her forehead a cursory kiss, if there was such a thing, before gently moving her from his shoulder and leaving the bed, extremely reluctantly, should truth be known. He was struck with the insane idea of never returning to the castle, to his job, and simply staying here with Granger and Lupin, hiding under the Fidelius charm and doing what he could to bring down Voldemort, Umbridge and the Ministry. 

Of course, if he did so, that would make all his (and her) suffering over the last few days pointless, since he could have just Apparated straight here and to hell with the Dark Lord, and the sane part of his mind knew that he had an important role to play inside Hogwarts and amongst the Death Eaters, but really, the thought of hiding out in Grimmauld Place had never seemed so appealing. 

Clothing himself with a wave of his wand, he advised her that he would be in contact with them tomorrow, and left her bedroom without further physical contact, despite wanting to kiss her goodnight deeply and thoroughly. He must at least attempt to remain emotionally uninvolved, if he were to walk this path he had set for himself, achieve what he must, and assist Miss Granger along the way. 

He walked through the dark house, feeling his way down the stairs and heading for the kitchen, where the main fireplace had been left on a low burn. Lupin had clearly gone to bed during the hours (had it been hours?) that he had been ensconced in the master bedroom, returning the young witch to full strength in the most pleasant way possible. 

Sticking his head in the fire, he called the Floo in the heads’ private bedchamber, knowing that Minerva was likely to be fast asleep, and would not hear the Floo in the main office. He waited for her to get out of his bed and attend the call, a bed that he would be reclaiming before the night was over, thank you very much. 

-xxx-

The following afternoon, Hermione and Orla were in the Grimmauld Place back garden, for the whole space, although not huge, was under the reaches of the Fidelius charm and thus it was completely safe for them to spend time outside. Remus was with them, resting in a low hammock that he had cleverly Transfigured from a bed sheet and slung between two trees, Teddy snoozing on his chest, the baby’s delicate skin protected from the hot July sun by the copious green leaves of the trees above. 

Charlie had come over to join them, bringing Garth, a crate of a dozen Butterbeers and a pile of sandwiches that he had set his wand to making and forgotten to stop, so there was plenty to eat. All four of them felt a little guilty that the others were all hard at work in their respective occupations, but not enough to stop them enjoying a sandwich, a beer and the chance to feel the sun on their faces. 

Garth was flapping around the garden, making tentative but ultimately useless attempts to fly, his stumpy wings meaning that he barely got two inches off the ground at any point. 

“He’s trying, though,” Charlie defended. “I’ve been taking him out at nights with me when I practise my Animagus form, showing him what to do. You watch, I’ll make a flier of him yet. He’ll do it!”

This had led to a discussion about Animagi, everyone interested in Charlie’s dragon form, and this had encouraged Remus into the conversation, which became a little emotional as he remembered his friends, Harry’s father and godfather, and the efforts they had gone to in order to change their forms to support his own, involuntary, transformations. 

Lupin looked pale and a little unwell, despite the fine weather, and Hermione had attributed this to the full moon being almost upon them. They discussed how tomorrow he would take Teddy to Shell Cottage, where the child would remain with Fleur and Charlie whilst he changed into a werewolf. Hermione had seen the protections that Remus had put on the cellar, to cage himself in the bowels of the house to avoid hurting anyone. There were deep scratches on the door, and rips in the mattress he had put down there for himself. It made her feel dreadfully sorry for him, what he had to live with every day of his life. At least her own curse had the eventual possibility of a cure. 

Orla asked him dozens of questions, wanting to help, saying that she hoped to go into Healing, in the future. He’d replied rather tetchily that there was little she could do, unless she wanted to brew him fresh Wolfsbane potion for a full week, every month. Looking a little defiant, the Irish girl had replied that she would ask McGongall or Snape when they visited if they would be able to get her ingredients and the instructions, having already established that the two bedrooms on the topmost floor, the ones that had belonged to Sirius and Regulus, were still crammed with equipment from their own schooldays, including both their potion kits. 

Lupin had looked gratified, but not hopeful, at her insistence. 

As the afternoon had drawn on and Teddy had awoken, Orla had taken the small baby and supported him on her lap, slightly sitting, as Garth entertained him with a series of strange little twirls and pratfalls that soon had the child giggling in that intoxicating way that only a tiny infant can, making all of them laugh.

Charlie encouraged Remus to get off the hammock and lay in the sun, advising that the hot sun on his skin would make him feel better, and go a way towards easing his aches and pains. They’d had to force him, Charlie turning the hammock into a kind of cloud that poofed away and left Remus laying on the bare grass, where he’d grumbled ‘like an old man’ Charlie had teased, but eventually he’d moved into the sun, finding a patch of soft, over-long grass and laying back with a pleasured sigh, closing his eyes as the sun beat down upon him. 

It was further indicative of how much he was enjoying it, when they noticed him unbutton the front of his old shirt to expose his chest to the healing rays of the warm sunlight, pushing up his sleeves, as if trying to soak up as much as he could. Hermione could not help noticing the scarring on his arms and chest, scars that were jagged and in random pattern, much like the two or three across his face and around his neck. Scars that were self-inflicted during his transformations, or during times when he had fought with other animals whilst transformed. She knew at least some of those scars had been earned that night in third year, outside the entrance to the tunnel that led to the Shrieking Shack, and bestowed upon him by Sirius Black in his Animagus form, during their terrible fight. 

As the shadows grew longer, Charlie took Garth and returned to Shell Cottage to begin preparing dinner for Fleur, and endured some teasing from Remus about his new career as a house-witch. The elf from Hogwarts delivered their own food relatively early, timed to coincide with the students’ dinner time, which was always fairly early on in the evenings so that student could do their homework afterwards. 

Teddy decided that he didn’t want to lay in the kitchen cradle whilst they were eating, so Remus and Orla took turns in holding him whilst eating their food one-handed, and Hermione was secretly glad not to participate. Although Teddy Lupin was undeniably cute, she preferred to eat her dinner with both hands rather than juggle a baby. Her mother had always said that Hermione was not baby-minded, and she’d tended to agree. 

Minerva had come through the Floo as they were clearing the kitchen together, doing the dishes by hand for want of an occupation, wiping the surfaces and replacing the clean crockery and cutlery. Remus was making an amusing little line of freshly-washed baby bottles, filling them with the right amount of magical baby formula powder and then screwing on the lids, bottles that he would then finish making up, bleary-eyed, in the night by adding water, then heating them individually on the stove. 

“The less to do in the middle of the night when I can barely see, and that young man is blasting my eardrums, the better,” he’d quipped, waggling his fingers in front of Teddy, who was being held by Orla to watch what his Daddy was doing. 

McGonagall told them that the handover of the headship back to Snape had gone smoothly, and she’d enjoyed the barely-disguised looks of disgust on the faces of the Death Eater ‘teachers’ as they’d seen him returned unharmed. 

“If those animals ever get the chance to attack Severus, on a level field without the spectre of Voldemort looming over them, he will need to watch his back. They looked like a pack of wild wolves tonight, ready to tear him limb from limb. No offence, Remus.”  
“None taken, Minerva. It is certainly not my choice to be a wild wolf. No doubt I would attack whatever came across my path, also,” he said, darkly, as the time for his transformation drew even nearer. 

Orla asked McGonagall about the possibility of her brewing the Wolfsbane potion, and the old Gryffindor Head of House promised to speak to Snape about it, suggesting he would be the best person to procure the ingredients, or even to teach her. Orla had blanched at the suggestion, no doubt she was still rather scared of their fierce, former Potions master. 

A date and time was arranged for the next Order meeting, which would be after the full moon, to give Remus time to recover, and he promised to advise Kingsley, Audrina, Fleur and Charlie. Minerva would be responsible for conveying the information to Professor Snape and Professor Sprout. 

“I have one more suggestion, or rather question, to put to you,” Minerva began, directing her question to Hermione. “Mr Finnigan. He has been to see me on a number of occasions since the death of Miss Patil, and twice since you left the school. I wonder if now is not the time to bring him into our fold. Would he wish to join us, do you think?”

“I think that Seamus would want to fight for the cause, yes. He is due to return to his mother in Ireland at the end of next week, when school finishes, so it is worth asking him. If he goes home, he can be given the connection to Floo here for meetings, and stay if necessary.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” McGonagall replied. “He is hot-headed and foolhardy, that is true, but so are most Gryffindors. Seamus Finnigan is brave and steadfast, and there is no doubt he has a fire in his belly that burns to avenge the deaths of his friends.”

“It’s where else he lights a fire that I’m worried about,” muttered Lupin, causing them all to smirk. 

“His lack of containment could prove to be his greatest strength,” Minerva suggested. “I shall speak to him when he next attends my office, I don’t expect it will be long before he visits me again. I shall not need to summon him.”

Their business completed, they bid Minerva goodnight, and she placed a small kiss on Lupin’s cheek, wishing him the minimum of suffering during the full moon, looking at him with tender affection, mixed with great sadness and regret. Once she had disappeared through the green flames, he excused himself to go and prepare Teddy’s bag for Shell Cottage, and put the baby down for the night. 

“Have you ever brewed Wolfsbane?” Orla asked her, when they were left alone at the kitchen table. 

“Never,” Hermione admitted, “but I did brew Poly … um, a really complicated potion in my second year, though. It’s just a matter of following the instructions exactly. I’m sure you could do it?”

“I’ll give it a go, to be sure. Poor Remus, what a nightmare to go through every month. It certainly puts menstruating into perspective.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at Orla’s bold statement, amazed at her compassion for someone else, considering how much she had been through herself in the last few weeks. The thought of her ordeals made Hermione’s pale into insignificance. That was the mark of a Hufflepuff, though, strong and uncomplaining, hard-working and loyal. Orla was actually amazing. She bid Hermione goodnight, saying that she was going to her room to read, and to pack a bag for their few days at the cottage, leaving her alone in the kitchen. 

-xxx-

Hermione had been to her own room, thrown a few belongings into a bag and changed into Remus’ old t-shirt that she quite enjoyed wearing as night clothes during the hot summer weather, and headed back downstairs, grabbing a book from the library but preferring to read in the kitchen, where there was a cool breeze from the back door, and in reaching distance of the stove for those essential cups of tea to accompany her descent into a good book. 

An hour later, or maybe more, Hermione couldn’t tell, since she’d been engrossed in the story whilst drinking tea at the table, the flames in the kitchen fireplace glowed green, accompanied by the tell-tale whoosh that indicated someone was coming through the Floo.

It was him. Clad in his full black teaching robes, he appeared to fill the room with his imposing presence. 

“Are you alone?” he asked.

“Yes. They went upstairs a while ago. Separately, I might add.”

He arched a thick, black eyebrow. 

“For now.”

“What?”

“Do not trouble yourself. Just a small observation. The reason for my visit is you. I understand that you will be heading for the Weasley cottage tomorrow, for the duration of the full moon?”

“Yes, that’s right. Remus thought it best that no one stays in the house whilst he’s transformed in the cellar.”

“I agree with him wholeheartedly. However, it presents us with a small problem, in that it will be rather difficult for me to visit you at the cottage, since I am led to believe it is rather cramped?”

“Ah, I see. Yes, it is. There’s one room downstairs that is all open-plan, kitchen, sitting room, dining area, you know. Then upstairs Fleur has the main bedroom, and Charlie has the second one. There is a tiny third room with twin beds that Orla and I are to share.”

“Then you see the problem,” he replied. 

“I do.”

He paused, taking a deep breath through his wide nostrils and holding it in, his chest expanded, before holding out a hand to her. 

“I don't think I should venture upstairs again, but may I suggest, Hermione, a brief trip to your excellent library, to bank some credits, as it were, for the coming days?”

She took his offered hand without a word, but felt the smile creeping to the corners of her mouth. She was not compelled, but understood what he was saying. A sexual encounter now would buy her the longest period of respite from the curse. His hand was warm and dry as he led her down her own hallway, and she could not help but feel a lurch of excitement in her stomach, not the desperate pull of the compulsion, but … something else. 

They entered the library and he closed and warded the door behind them, firing an Incendio at the small fireplace and lighting two of the wall sconces with an impressively nonchalant wave of his wand, before taking hold of her other hand and pulling her towards him. Snape looked down at her in a serious way, his eyes wary, but searching. Lifting one hand slowly, he brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek, tilting her chin up when he reached it. 

“I must confess, that due to the punishment I put my … equipment through, the last few days, I am not able to have intercourse with you, as much as I would like to. But, I shall ensure that I satisfy you. May I proceed?”

Her answer was somewhat incoherent, and she noticed the wicked smirk that fell across his face as she demonstrated exactly how flustered he was making her, a smirk that travelled all the way to those black eyes, lighting a dark fire behind them. 

Shit. She could feel herself getting damp, already. She had no sense of restraint whatsoever. 

Snape sat down in one of the large reading chairs by the window, pulling her backwards into his lap, her legs outside of his, sliding his large hands up her bare thighs and toying with the hem of the purloined t-shirt. She leaned against him, and he burrowed his long nose into her hair, pushing his lips next to her ear. 

“Do we feel, Granger, that we are appropriately dressed for walking about the house?”

She smiled to herself, grateful that he couldn’t see her getting turned on and loving every moment of the attention he was lavishing upon her. 

“It’s my house.”

“Indeed it is,” he replied, reaching under the t-shirt, pushing it up her body and finding her bare breasts, for she had not bothered to put her bra back on after changing for bed. 

He took one in each hand and began to gently fondle them as if reacquainting himself with the feel of them, and Hermione found the heat and sound of his heavy breathing against her ear to be as erotic as his touch. 

“These tits, Granger,” he breathed. “These are fucking amazing tits.”

She could definitely feel herself getting wet, now. His nimble fingers began to skilfully roll her nipples, enticing each one into a point, making them hard and erect as he worked on her.

Holy shit, this wizard knew how to touch her. Hermione felt another lurch in her stomach, and she wondered if it was the compulsion making itself heard due to his proximity, or just her own desire. 

When he had her panting, he lowered his hands, sliding them back down her body to reach her knickers, and he toyed with the material, twisting the sides, stroking her mound over the soft cotton. 

“How disappointing to find you covered,” he drawled, and he must have cast a non-verbal spell, as she immediately found herself not wearing the knickers any longer. 

“Where have you put them?” she asked, sitting up a little.

Snape pulled her back down, opening his own thighs between her own, spreading her legs wide. 

“Now, do you really care where they are?” he asked, slipping both hands to her most private parts and fluttering his fingers there, splaying her open and delving inside. “Or shall we continue here, rather than fret over lost knickers?”

“Continue,” she mumbled, arching her back in pleasure.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear you,” he teased, scooping one fingertip around her cleft and exposing her clitoris, which he began to stroke in rapid little circles, immediately pushing her from moderately aroused to hopping around in his lap. 

“I want you to continue, Severus,” she answered, turning her face so that she could reach his lips with her own, no longer embarrassed. “Please.”

The headmaster did not disappoint her, and the feel of his mouth moving on hers, in time with the persistent fingers exciting her sensitive clit, was a heady mix. Hermione reached a hand up towards his head, taking hold of a handful of his stringy black hair, no longer disgusting to her, but instead was a means to draw him closer, to make him growl so that he opened his mouth and gave over his tongue, which she eagerly sucked upon, feeling his erection hard beneath her bottom. 

Snape applied his other hand to her pussy, exciting every part of it with his searching fingers, and she felt herself begin to come, her hips pushed upwards and rigid as he strummed and played her, forcing her over that edge of bliss as her orgasm hit her. She broke the kiss, throwing her head back against his shoulder and letting out little gasping pants of satisfaction. 

“Fuck, fuck … ohh, fuck … yes …”

She heard and felt him chuckle. 

“I have advised you that I cannot fuck, as much as I would like to. But already you cause me pain, witch,” he growled, bouncing his hips underneath her so she could feel his burgeoning erection. “I cannot help but be aroused when you come so beautifully in my lap, little Nimue.”

Hermione wondered if she would ever tire of hearing the tender and dirty words mixed together as they spilled from this dark wizard’s lips in his impeccably correct, deep voice. She turned her head and dropped a slow, chaste kiss on his pale cheek, watching him close his eyes in what appeared to be delight as he received it. 

“Can I interest you in one more, before I have to leave you?” he asked, as he spun her sideways so that she was sitting across him, one leg over the chair arm and the other pointing towards the floor, in order to insert his fingers deep inside her, leaning forward to bestow a proper, open-mouthed kiss upon her, unfurling his tongue inside her mouth and tucking his nose skilfully out of the way. 

As he began to twist and turn his fingers inside her, they both knew that he had just asked the world’s most unnecessary question.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was pitiful enough to make him feel almost sorry for the creature he became every full moon, locked up and unknowing, no means of escape, no way of understanding. 
> 
> Remus then hid his wand in a box and tucked it at the back of a cupboard. The werewolf would not look there, and even if it did, it would not be able to use the wand, only destroy it. 
> 
> He had done all he could to secure himself, and safeguard the others.

Remus gave the two bags containing Teddy’s things one each to Hermione and Orla to carry through the Floo to Shell Cottage, before cradling his tiny son under his jacket and stepping in the fireplace to take them through the secure connection between the two Secret-Kept homes. He hated hiding the child like this, but really, there was no choice. Almost every day the Prophet carried the names of previously-unknown werewolves who had been captured by Snatchers and culled by the Ministry under the Destruction of Dangerous Creatures decree. 

He had no doubt that one Edward Remus Lupin would be top of their ‘hit list’, after himself, of course. As such a high-profile lycanthrope, and one that’d had the audacity to breed, it was likely that his son Teddy would not only be eventually culled, but the thought of the experiments that might be carried out on a child of mixed lycanthropic and metamorphmagic parentage prior to that fate … he shuddered to think. No, to stay hidden in safety was the best thing for Teddy at present. 

Emerging in the neat sitting room of Shell Cottage, where the girls were already passing the bags over to Charlie, and Garth was pottering around the furniture in great excitement at the prospect of visitors, Remus unwrapped Teddy from inside his covering and pronounced him none the worse for his first time travelling by the sooty Floo. 

Fleur was at work, and would be returning home in a couple of hours. In the meantime, Charlie Weasley was in charge, apparently. Remus had already left discreet instructions with Orla as to Teddy’s requirements, since she was learning the baby’s routine quite well in the few days she’d been at Grimmauld Place, for want of anything else to do, he supposed. Teddy seemed to like her, too. Hermione was pleasant, but kept a discreet distance from anything ‘hands-on’, especially at nappy-changing time, whereas Orla always seemed keen to help out, whatever the task. She really was a sweet girl. Tonks would have liked her, and would have taken the younger Hufflepuff under her wing, he was sure of it. 

Orla took the baby from his arms, and Teddy already seemed to recognise her. Good, he felt somewhat better knowing that she was here, however competent Charlie and Fleur might be.

Remus felt tired, ill and cross, as he always did just before his monthly transformation. He’d looked in the mirror that morning and seen his face marred with a waxy pallor, his eyes tense and a grim determination in his jaw. The final night of the cycle was always the worst, knowing that when he returned he would have something to eat, then magically seal himself in the cellar, concealing his wand, before laying down on the makeshift bed he’d placed down there to await the inevitable. The physical pain of transforming and the mental anguish of having his own, sane mind ripped from him and replaced with … well, he knew not what he replaced himself with, having no memory from the moment the transformation was complete until he awoke where he had fallen, usually scratched and exhausted.

This would be the first month that he had been in sole charge of Teddy and had to cope with the transformation at the same time. Thank Merlin for good and loyal friends that he could rely on to care for his son whilst he was incapacitated. Even if Orla did, by some miracle, and he had no faith, manage to brew Wolfsbane at home, he would still be transformed and not able to look after a baby, despite retaining his own mind and becoming merely a harmless wolf that would sleep through the change. The lack of pain would be greatly appreciated, though. 

He set up the cradle in Charlie’s room, since the tiny room that the girls were to share was not big enough to accommodate it, and it would be unfair to expect a pregnant Fleur to care for Teddy throughout the night, when she was working all day. She’d offered, of course, but Charlie would not hear of it. As the second-eldest of seven children, Remus presumed that he may possess a certain level of capability with babies, one only had to look at the pampered Garth to see that. The tiny Longhorn would probably have adopted Teddy as his own personal plaything by the time this visit was over. 

Kissing his son goodbye, he grabbed up a handful of Floo powder and returned to Grimmauld Place, now as empty and bare of life and company as it had been when he’d first begun hiding here. Lupin disconnected the Floo from the fireplace, knowing that Charlie would do the same at his end. He would open it again … after. 

Later that evening, as the first strands of dusk began to thread their way across the sky, he could put the moment off no longer. He used the toilet, and then headed reluctantly towards the cellar, knowing that what was to follow was inevitable, as it always was, as it always had been since he’d first been bitten, all those years ago. 

He closed the heavy cellar door behind him, locking it manually and then sealing it with his wand, adding a hex that would sting his werewolf form if he tried to open it, which he presumed he would, since last month the inside of the door had been full of deep, desperate scratches. It was pitiful enough to make him feel almost sorry for the creature he became every full moon, locked up and unknowing, no means of escape, no way of understanding. 

Remus then hid his wand in a box and tucked it at the back of a cupboard. The werewolf would not look there, and even if it did, it would not be able to use the wand, only destroy it. He had done all he could to secure himself and safeguard others. With a resigned sigh, and a few frustrated tears of regret and fear, he descended the cellar steps, into the dank room deep below number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and lay down upon the tattered mattress on the old wooden frame. 

Would he sleep, or would he still be awake when the transformation began? He never knew. 

-xxx-

Severus was in his reclaimed office at Hogwarts, having just seen off the new Charms professor that he’d hired to replace Filius Flitwick, hopefully temporarily. He had regular updates from Fleur Weasley that Flitwick was managing to keep his head down at Gringotts, keeping the goblins on his side and making himself useful until such time as the law released him to return to his professorial position. 

Well, it was unlikely the law would release him, the plan was more to remove the harpy who had ordered it being passed in the first place, and Severus would take full pleasure in doing so. 

Professor Malbus had stormed in earlier that morning, complaining about the plumbing in his private chambers that had been supposedly fixed by Filch, but was still apparently spewing dirty water in his bathroom. Severus had sighed heavily and promised that the problem would be addressed by the end of the day, rolling his eyes as the skinny little wizard stalked out, his nose high in the air and leaving Severus wondering why he didn’t just get his own fucking wand out and mend the plumbing, seeing as he was supposed to be a highly-qualified Charms professor. Still, Malbus wasn’t a Death Eater, nor a follower of the Dark, and that had been the main reason Snape had appointed him. 

Minerva had been relieved to see Severus return apparently unharmed, since he’d opted not to share with her about the severity of the friction sores to his tortured dick, and had happily vacated the heads’ office and private chambers to return to her own. She’d actually done a fine job of keeping everything in line, and there seemed to have been no major incidents since he’d been gone. 

The well-timed application of a soothing salve that he’d invented himself, years ago, made from camomile and knotgrass to his nether regions was bringing slow but blissful relief from the damage he’d inflicted with his own hands whilst compelled. He felt his cock twitch with anticipation of fucking Miss Granger again, when she next desired it, and tried not to think about how damn lucky he was, since that would mean he needed to be grateful to Voldemort, and that was unthinkable. 

No, he needed to concentrate on how to kill the bastard. There was an Order meeting planned for when Lupin had recovered from the transformation stage of his cycle, and now that the snake was gone they needed to press ahead with getting a real plan in place to eliminate the Dark Lord and reclaim the country from the grip of the Death Eaters, and from the clutches of the pink nightmare that was Dolores Umbridge. 

-xxx-

The full moon shone brightly through the windows of Shell Cottage, the sky clear and cloud-free over the dark sea beyond. Hermione stood at the window looking out over the bay of Tinworth beach, eerily silhouetted in the silvery beam, wondering how something so naturally beautiful could cause Remus such pain and suffering. He was voluntarily locked in the Grimmauld cellar, in mental and physical agony, whilst she was here looking at the beauty of the full moon, with his tiny son sleeping in the room upstairs. It was so unfair. 

Charlie had cooked an amazing supper of chicken pie, filled with gravy and shallots, and piled up their plates with vegetables. Fleur put away more than any of them, her pregnancy now at the beginning of its second trimester and giving her a huge appetite. Garth had been given his own bowl full of pie, laid on the floor in the kitchen, although with great dignity the little dragon had picked up the bowl in his mouth and half-jumped, half-flew up to the table top and placed his bowl there in a spare spot, and began to eat with the others, his beady eye trained on Charlie as if daring his master to disapprove. 

Orla had insisted on bathing Teddy, whilst Hermione did the washing-up and Fleur sat on the sofa with Garth on her lap like a house-cat, tickling his flappy ears and letting Charlie massage her sore and aching feet. After Teddy had been put to bed, a combination of the skills of Orla, Charlie and Fleur (Hermione had stayed in the sitting room, more than happy to play ‘Fetch’ with Garth and a small ball of string, rather than participate in the babysitting) they’d sat and talked for a while before Fleur headed off for a bath, declaring herself exhausted and that she would go to bed afterwards. 

It took Charlie half-an-hour to dissuade Orla from the idea of another run down the beach, stating that he needed to stay in the house to look after Teddy. She’d gone to bed soon after, in what seemed like a bit of a huff, and Charlie had looked nonplussed.

“I think someone might have a little crush,” he whispered, and he wrinkled his nose. 

“I doubt that, after what she’s been through,” Hermione replied. “More likely that Orla feels trapped, and wanted to get outside, to run free. Goodness knows, we all feel like that.”

He looked slightly disappointed, and she laughed. 

“Not liking a girl being immune to the charms of the great Charlie Weasley?” she teased. 

“Oh, stop. How could she resist?”

Hermione swatted him on the leg and got up to fetch a bottle of wine and two glasses from the small kitchen, pouring one for each of them. 

“Since her boyfriend was just killed, I’d say she’s not in the mood for any wizard right now,” she warned. “Although if she was, I’m sure you’d be first in line.”

She smiled good-naturedly but mockingly at Charlie, who was sprawled on the sofa with his solid legs and arms akimbo, passing him the full glass of wine. 

“And what about you, Hermione? Didn’t you just lose your boyfriend too?”

Taking a sip from her glass, and then another one before setting it down on the small table, she collected her thoughts. 

“Ronald was never my boyfriend. He … he was my best friend, along with Harry. There was so long, in our sixth year and maybe earlier, when we might have got together, but it never happened. Not until the night of the battle, near the end, there was … a moment.”

“A moment?”

“He kissed me. Well, we kissed each other, really. We’d destroyed one of the Horcruxes, deep in the Chamber of Secrets, and the enormity of that moment just overtook us, really. It was a wonderful kiss. I didn’t know then that it would be our first and our last.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine. It happened, and I’m happy that it did. He died knowing that I loved him.”

“Did you love him?”

“As the best friend in the world, yes, certainly. As a boyfriend? Well, who knows what would have happened, had he survived. We’d have given it a go, I’m sure.”

“He was a filthy slob,” Charlie said, grinning. “Ron’s room was always the untidiest out of all seven of us, his socks smelt like rotting carcasses, he eats like a starving Hippogriff, and he’s got ginger pubes.”

Hermione couldn’t help laughing out loud, in spite of herself, and then covering her mouth with her hand to silence it, lest she wake anyone sleeping upstairs, particularly the baby.

“I should have thought that the ginger pubes thing wasn’t exclusive to Ronald,” she retorted, moving her hand and raising an eyebrow. 

“Want to find out?”

She opened her eyes a little wider in surprise, and Charlie put down his wine glass on the table, sliding down the sofa to sit close to her, too close, his leg touching hers. 

“Charlie …”

“I can be there for you, Hermione. I can be whatever you need. I’m a Weasley, and a proud one at that, let me replace whatever you have lost when my brother was taken from you.”

Without waiting for a reply, he leaned forward and kissed her lips, moving his mouth on hers, and his touch was warm and sure. 

Drawing back to gauge her reaction, his eyes seeking her approval and consent, she found herself nodding, and he began to kiss her again, this time slipping his hand around to the back of her head, holding her against him as he gently opened her mouth with his own, tentatively seeking her tongue and slowly curling his around it in a slow swirl.

Her senses were assaulted on all levels. Charlie tasted of love, of familiarity, of safety and of home. His kiss was soft and surprisingly sensual, and made her stomach jump a little. As she felt Charlie take hold of her hands with his free one, it reminded her so much of Ron that her heart hurt. 

But. 

But. 

She pulled back, and looked into his honest, open face, his blue eyes full of care and loyalty, his curly red hair bouncing on his shoulders and the healed scar prominent on the side of his neck. His large hand still held hers, calloused and scarred, his forearms tanned and freckled from a life lived outdoors. Hermione had no doubt that Charlie was earnest in his intention to take the place of his brother, to care for her as Ron would have done. 

But. 

For all his wonderful qualities, he wasn’t … him. Not Ron, but a severe, black-haired wizard with a too-large nose, a lined face and ink-coloured eyes that were so endless you thought you might drown in them. He didn’t have the musty smell of old parchment and even older castles, nor wore billowing black robes that could sweep around you like some kind of all-encompassing vampire bat. He didn’t scare her and excite her at the same time. He was ruddy and glowing with health, with no ghostly pallor, no stress or worry behind his gaze. 

Oh, Merlin, did she love him? Had she fallen, for Professor Snape? 

Her heart beat faster at the thought. 

“Hermione,” he whispered. “I am here for Fleur, and I can be here for you, if you let me.”

She needed to let him. She needed prove herself wrong, needed to know that what she felt for Snape, she could easily feel for another wizard, particularly one who was so worthy. Hermione stood, pulling Charlie to his feet, and allowed him to wrap his arms around her, to feel enveloped in his warm embrace, and kissed him again, this time deeper and longer. 

It felt nice, but there was no other, more passionate, feeling, and she supposed the compulsion curse was responsible for that, suddenly surprised that it hadn’t stopped her from kissing someone apart from Snape. Perhaps it was just the personal areas that the stinging jinx was confined to. She then, strangely, felt another hand on her back, softer and gentler. 

“Charrrlie.”

They broke off their kiss, to see Fleur standing beside them. 

“I need you, Charlie,” she said, quietly, removing one of his hands from around Hermione’s waist. “I can share ‘im with you, ‘Ermione. We ‘ave both lost those ‘oo we loved, and Charlie is ‘ere for us.”

Fleur leaned forwards and placed a light kiss on Hermione’s cheek, before turning to Charlie, who wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling Fleur towards him and kissing her as deeply as he’d been doing to her, just a few seconds before, keeping a secure hold of Hermione around her waist as he kissed Fleur. 

She immediately understood what Charlie had meant when he said he was ‘there’ for Fleur. He was assuming the role left vacant by his brother’s tragic death, filling the huge gap that the loss of Bill must have left in the life of his newly-pregnant wife. They were probably sleeping together already. They stopped kissing and looked at her, waiting for her reaction, wanting to see what she made not only of their relationship, but what she thought about joining it. 

Fleur turned to her and took hold of both her cheeks, kissing her directly on the lips in a gesture that both invited and accepted. She was willing to share Charlie. She was offering Hermione a space with the two of them. Charlie was stroking her back whilst Fleur kissed her, the three of them making a strange triad on the hearth rug in the dark room, the light of the buttery, full moon shining through the cottage windows. 

“Thank you, both of you,” she croaked, not wanting to offend either of them. “I’m not in a place where I need anyone to be with me, but I wish you both every happiness.”

She was sincere in her wishes to Fleur and Charlie, despite privately thinking that this would be a relationship built on what Fleur had lost, and not on who Charlie was. But that was none of her business, both were adults and free to make their own choices. Charlie’s entire family had been viciously taken from him, it was no surprise that he would choose to hold tight to the only part of it that was left, both his sister-in-law and his niece or nephew that was yet to be born. 

Hermione kissed them both goodnight on the cheeks, and turned to climb the small staircase without any regret. As she peered through the bannisters, Fleur and Charlie had resumed their kiss, and he was backing her towards the blue sofa, running his hands down her spine, making her sigh into his mouth as he lay her on the plump cushions before climbing atop her, and she received him. They had clearly done this before, and good luck to them. In this uncertain new world, happiness had to be taken wherever one could find it. 

She slipped into the small bedroom with the twin beds, Orla already asleep and breathing heavily, her white-blonde hair spilling over the pillow like a golden blanket. Hermione quickly changed into her pyjamas and slipped between her own sheets, her mind not on Charlie, but on Professor Snape. 

Severus. 

She wanted to know the real person behind the scowl. Knowing him sexually was not the same as understanding what was inside his head. Would he ever consider a relationship with her? Did such a wizard even entertain such trifling things as relationships? One thing was for certain, that there was no way that question could ever be answered whilst her compulsion curse was still active. 

Another reason to kill Voldemort as soon as possible. 

Hermione fell asleep dreaming of murder, much to her own warped amusement.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s just us now, Seamus. But we have all these people too,” she told him, gesturing around the room. “We are a rather disparate group, but we are all fighting for the same cause, however we can.”

The new Order of the Phoenix were seated around the table in her kitchen at Grimmauld Place, their numbers swollen even more by the arrival of Seamus, whom Professor McGonagall had managed to smuggle out of Hogwarts under the guise of detention in her private office. Hermione had leapt out of her chair when her friend had come through the Floo, looking bewildered at the people around him and clearly wondering where the bloody hell he was. 

Seamus seemed relieved, as well as pleased, to have Hermione jump into his arms and reassure him that she, and everything here, was safe and could be trusted. As usual, his face showed the signs of physical punishment – a yellowing bruise on his jaw and the remains of a split lip. 

“I was worried sick,” he grumbled, into her neck as he returned her hug. “Last day of exams, then poof, you were gone.”

“No one could tell you anything, it’s not safe at the school, you know that,” she replied, squeezing the tops of his broad arms. “But you’re here now, and we have so much to tell you. I promise that I am ok, I’m not hurt, I’m not in danger. Well, I am, but not here. This is number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and it’s my home that Harry left to me in his Will. He was bequeathed it himself after the death of Sirius Black, and it’s under a Fidelius Charm so its Secret-Kept. No one can find me here unless I want them to.”

“Harry left a Will?”

“He did. Isn’t that incredible? He arranged a legal Will to be left with a wizarding notary at the Ministry just after the Tri-Wizard tournament, leaving this house to Ron and me, should anything happen to him.”

“Prophetic,” Seamus said, sadly. 

“It was an amazing thing for him to have done at such a young age, and not told anyone about,” she agreed. 

“I miss everyone so much,” he added, seeming reluctant to break their embrace. “Harry, Ron, Nev, Dean, Lav, and then Parv …”

“It’s just us now, Seamus. But we have all these people too,” she told him, gesturing around the room. “We are a rather disparate group, but we are all fighting for the same cause, however we can.”

He’d seemed satisfied, and had released her, venturing further into the room to greet Lupin, who was juggling a sleeping baby, trying to get Teddy into his cradle at the side of the kitchen without waking him, and looking like he needed an extra arm to accomplish his mission. 

Remus looked tired after his transformation, but was clean and had no fresh, self-inflicted wounds. None that she could see, anyway. That wasn’t to say there weren’t more under his clothes. 

The short stay at Shell Cottage had been fine, Charlie and Orla had cared for Teddy most amicably together, and she’d not had to do anything in the way of baby care, which was a relief. It had also been a relief that there’d been no awkwardness after her unexpected snog with Charlie – he’d offered her physical and emotional comfort, but as much as she adored the second-born Weasley, it had taken that kiss to make her realise that her true affections lay elsewhere. With a surly, dark professor who was currently sitting not a million miles away from her, at her own kitchen table. 

She’d known that Snape was able to elicit all manner of sexual responses from her, and her stomach curled over even now at the thought of all the ways he had pleasured her. However, she’d presumed her responses to be purely a result of the compulsion curse. 

When Charlie had kissed her, it had been nice, but that was all. Just friendly, comforting, and … nice. Hermione Granger wanted more than nice. Thoughts of Professor Snape had danced through her head, all sharp angles and black eyes teasing her to admit her unwarranted desire for him. 

Charlie and Fleur had been much more demonstrative once their … arrangement was out in the open. For the rest of the day, and for the second night that Hermione, Orla and Teddy had been staying in the cottage, the two had been openly affectionate with each other, and it was clear that both were meeting needs in the other. 

Both Charlie and Fleur were grieving terribly, and were seeking comfort and peace of mind - no one could blame them for that. Long-term it would remain to be seen what would happen between the two of them, but in the immediacy and rawness of the moment, their closeness actually made sense. Sometimes in the depths of very tragic grief; physical and sexual release helped you remember you were still alive, confirmed that you lived and breathed and felt. Fleur and Charlie would take care of one another, emotionally too, whatever the result of their unusual union. 

When Kingsley and Audrina Shacklebolt arrived through the Floo from the Burrow, their group was complete, and Snape wasted no time in calling for quiet and telling the assembled Order members that the snake, and therefore the final Horcrux, had been destroyed. 

A babble of excited chatter at this news ran around the table, but he quelled it with a single raised eyebrow, just as he’d quieted a class during her schooldays. She shouldn’t find it attractive … but she did. Oh, Merlin. A small but insistent pulse in the seat of her knickers confirmed that she would need to spend some private time the professor tonight, before he returned to the castle. 

“Hermione killed the snake using the Sword of Gryffindor, which presented herself to her at her time of need.”

A ripple of applause rang out, the other Gryffindors in attendance being particularly impressed. 

“The death of Nagini also resulted in the death of Draco Malfoy,” he announced, and Hermione saw his eyes dart briefly towards Orla. “Young Mr Malfoy had shown all signs of wishing to distance himself, and Miss Roach here, from the Death Eaters, and appears to have made all possible attempts to secure the pair of them from discovery once they had managed to escape from the castle together. I therefore believe that his death should be considered a tragedy, and that were he still alive, he would have stood with us.”

He paused to allow the Order members to digest the meaning of his words, and Orla shot him a grateful look that he had not alluded to the sexual and romantic relationship that had developed between the two of them whilst on the run. 

“On the night when these events occurred, it was also discovered that Miss Roach is, in fact, the genetic daughter of Lucius Malfoy. Not, I might add, of Narcissa Malfoy. I apologise for revealing your personal information, Orla, but I have attended a Death Eating meeting since then, and I must advise you, and everyone here, that Malfoy Senior has indicated he will stop at nothing to find and retrieve his daughter, intending to bring her home to Malfoy Manor.”

The look of horror on Orla’s face was a sight to behold, clearly, she had not expected this possibility. 

“At the same meeting, Lucius was allowed to exact his revenge upon Yaxley for his abuse of Miss Roach in the weeks whilst she had resumed her studies at Hogwarts. I am sure I do not need to give exact details, but let me make it clear that Malfoy stopped only a few curses of short of taking the man’s life.”

“I can attest to that,” chimed in Audrina Shacklebolt. “Corban Yaxley is currently resident on the ward reserved solely for the Death Eaters at St Mungo’s, and he is in a critical condition from both spell damage, and a physical attack. His wounds and injuries are numerous and severe.”

“Good,” retorted Orla, loudly, surprisingly them all. “He took me apart from the inside out, and enjoyed doing it. He deserves everything he gets, even if it was Malfoy that did it to him.”

There wasn’t a single person around the Grimmauld table who did not wince at her bold choice of words. Seamus reached for and took Orla’s hand on the wooden surface, squeezing it tightly. They’d never been particular friends at school, but then again, she and Orla hadn’t either. This situation was all about making alliances where you could, and fast. 

“Unfortunately, I have some more unpleasant news for you, Orla,” Kingsley announced, in his deep voice and pulling a scroll of parchment out from the inner pocket of his robes and passing it to her. “Lucius Malfoy has had your name officially changed from Roach to Malfoy, both magically and legally, and this is now registered at the Ministry.”

“What? But that’s sick!” Hermione protested, as Orla looked too shocked to speak. “How can he do that?”

“Blood purity and paternal bloodlines are paramount in Voldemort’s new administration. It matters not that Orla is of age, her paternity was magically proved, before several witnesses, and therefore he entitled to change her name from that of a man who is not her genetic father, to his own,” Kingsley replied. 

“That’s a load of shite,” Orla spat, angrily. “Gerard Roach raised me as his own, although whether he knew it or not, I’ll never know.”

“I’m sorry, Orla,” Kingsley continued, “but it is done. You are now Orla Malfoy and there is no way around that, I’m afraid. All I can suggest, that depending on how this, all of this, meaning the war, plays out, that your Malfoy blood may be the one thing that saves your own life.”

“Save myself and dump all of you? Never!”

“Keep the Ministry scroll with proof of paternity. You never know when you will need it,” Snape advised her, in a quiet voice. “For now, you are fully concealed under the Fidelius Charm and even if Lucius Malfoy seeks you, he will not be successful in locating you. Now, Audrina, should we consider that Yaxley will be unable to return to work in the near future?”

“Most certainly, Severus,” Audrina confirmed. 

She was now working six days a week at the hospital, she told the group, and had managed to get herself placed on the Death Eater ward in order to gain as much information as possible. People tended to talk and share more when in pain and feeling vulnerable, she advised.

“I do not think he will be fit to work again, for he was so badly injured. I cannot see Yaxley even managing to walk upright out of St Mungo’s, if he ever leaves there at all. I take it that you witnessed the attack on him?”

“Indeed, I did,” he confirmed, giving no further details, or his opinion, but his eyes were neutral and did not give away any unnecessary clues. “That means the position of Head of the Auror Office will be vacant. Kingsley, would there be a chance that you can edge yourself into the role? It would be most useful to have an Order member amongst the Death Eaters that make up the heads of all the other key departments.”

“I have kept my head down,” Kingsley told him. “Had Voldemort not seized control of the Ministry and placed Dolores Umbridge in charge, I would have been in line for promotion after Scrimgeour and Thicknesse, and certainly before Yaxley. I have grounds for asking to be considered for the role, but there is no guarantee that I will get it. It will depend on whether Umbridge trusts me, or not.”

“I understand that,” Snape replied. “You can only do your best, Kingsley.”

Kingsley nodded in agreement, and a few others around the table did, too, thinking how having an Order member at the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would put them in an excellent position to continue their resistance work. 

“I ‘ave news to report, too.”

Fleur spoke up, and everyone turned to look at her, looking beautiful but terribly tired, at one end of the long table. 

“Do you remember ‘ow I told you zat a large vault ‘ad been reserved at ze banque, for ze Dark Lord? Zat vault ees now being used. Ze Dark Lord ‘imself ‘as been in to Gringotts to enter eet. No goblin ees allowed to enter, or any of us. But Feelius, ‘ee ‘as used ‘is wand, for ‘ee ees so good at ze charms, and been inside ‘ze vault.”

“What has Voldemort stored inside? Is it money?” Lupin asked, impatient for her to finish her tale, her slow manner of speaking obviously irritating him. 

“No, not money. Feelius tells me zere is a table in ze middle of ze vault. Zere are items on ze table, protected with a dark spell. Ze rest of ze vault lies empty.”

“What items?” 

That was Lupin, again, trying to hurry the story along. 

“Feelius tells me all ze items are broken. A locket, broken. A trophy cup, with an ‘ole in ze side. An old book, again with an ‘ole, and a ring zat looks like it ‘as been crushed.”

Hermione gasped loudly, and saw her expression of fear mirrored in the faces of both Snape and Lupin. 

“The Horcruxes,” she whispered. “The Horcruxes that were destroyed. Why does he have them?”

“I do not know,” Snape replied. “I have not been party to any discussions where he has sought their retrieval. Most of them would have been at Hogwarts, yet he did not ask me to find them. I find it difficult to believe that any of the Death Eaters there would have been entrusted with a mission that I was unaware of, yet that seems to be the case, unless there are students or staff within the castle that have hidden their allegiances far too well.”

“Harry kept the destroyed locket with him. Voldemort must have found it in his pocket after … after he killed him. Ron and I left the cup in the Chamber of Secrets, exactly where we destroyed it. It was swept away in a wave of water.”

“The diary and the ring were both in Dumbledore’s office, concealed behind his portrait with the real Sword of Gryffindor,” Snape added. 

“Ze vault was only entered for ze first time zis week,” Fleur confirmed. 

“Minerva, could anyone have been in the heads’ office between the time that my wards were disabled and yours raised?”

“I have no idea, Severus. There was certainly a period of time when the castle was unprotected, before I was advised to take on the interim headship.”

“More importantly,” interrupted Remus, “why does Voldemort have the broken Horcruxes under magical lock and key in the most secure place in wizarding Britain?”

The Defence Against the Dark Arts specialist was thinking ahead of them all. 

“What do you mean, Horcruxes?” asked Professor Sprout, and there were several others who looked just as confused as the old Herbology teacher. 

“Lupin will explain,” Severus told them, waving a hand to indicate that Remus should speak. “But, before he does, it would be my guess that to be guarding these items so securely, it may be the Dark Lord’s belief that he may be able to use his prodigious magical skill to somehow reawaken the fragments of soul that were contained within them. He cannot make more, for the tiny sliver of soul that remains inside his corporeal form would not survive further splitting, and not even Voldemort is foolish enough to attempt it. I believe that he is intending to try and revive some of the damaged Horcruxes. Even if he only succeeds once, that is one too many, given how long it has taken us to destroy the final one.”

“Remus,” said McGonagall, rather crossly. “Will you please explain to us all exactly what Severus is talking about?”

The silence around the table was absolute, apart from the babyish sleep noises being made by Teddy, and the drowsy snuffles emitting from Garth’s large nostrils as the little dragon lay basking on the hearth like a scaly cat. 

Lupin began to tell the whole Order everything he knew about Voldemort’s Horcruxes. By the time he finished, each person knew the full extent of what Harry Potter had achieved.

-xxx-

It was well after midnight, and everyone had finally left. McGonagall was going to smuggle Seamus back into his dormitory via the Floo, so that he did not have to walk the corridors of the castle, and risk running into a Death Eater, who would have no compunction in serving him with further punishment. Orla had gone to bed, and Remus was lifting a sleeping Teddy from the kitchen cradle to take him upstairs, hopefully for a good long night’s sleep, for the wizard looked exhausted. Snape was still seated at the table, no doubt he had picked up on her discomfort that was being caused by the compulsion and knew she would need him. Remus seemed to be loitering in the kitchen, however, as if waiting for Snape to leave before heading up to bed. 

“For fuck’s sake, Lupin, you have checked twice that you have everything that belongs to the baby. You know exactly why I am waiting here for Miss Granger, so unless you wish me to relieve her curse symptoms in front of you, I suggest that you remove yourself to your bedroom forthwith.”

Remus shot him such a look of embarrassment and disgust that Hermione had to try very hard to contain the smile that was making her cheeks ache, biting down on the inside of her mouth to avoid it looking as if she were laughing at her housemate. Lupin was, after all, merely concerned for her welfare. However, the itch that she needed Snape to scratch was making itself known loud and clear, and she was only too keen to have the room to themselves.

He took the hint. Well, not so much of a hint, rather an outright dismissal from the room. As Remus closed the kitchen door firmly behind him, Snape shot a fizzing security ward at it to prevent his re-entry, that Lupin would no doubt have heard being set. It was immature, but faintly amusing. 

The dark wizard she had been waiting so very long for turned and walked towards her, his face deathly serious and one eyebrow quirked in enquiry. Her stomach turned over in anticipation. 

They stood facing one another by the stove, where Hermione was ineffectually clearing up the tea mugs, her hands visibly a little shaky.

“Are you compelled?” he asked, his voice heady and travelling straight to where she needed it most. 

She nodded. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? I believe I advised you that it was no hardship for me to assist you.”

“I kissed Charlie Weasley,” she blurted out, not really sure why she felt the need to confess the inadvertent snog to him. 

A strange look passed over the professor’s face, and he looked at her for a long time before answering, as if scrutinising her feelings.

“And you are telling me this because …?”

“I don’t know. I think I feel guilty.”

“There is no need to feel guilt. We are not in a relationship. We have made one another no promises.”

“I know, but …”

“How do you know that I am, in fact, not taking witches to my bed every night of the week?”

Oh. 

She hadn’t thought about that. Now Snape was released from the curse he could indeed have resumed his previous activities, which were clearly prolific if his skill was any indication. He told hold of her chin and tilted it upwards to face him. 

“Let me be clear, Miss Granger, that I have taken no witch to my bed apart from yourself since we were cursed.”

She let out a relieved breath, rather too loudly, and he chuckled. It was a lovely sound. 

“I am more interested that you were able to kiss Mr Weasley and not activate the stinging jinx?”

“I wondered about that, too. Perhaps its only … more intimate areas that can’t be touched by another. Or maybe something to do with intent? I practise my own personal hygiene with no problems, you know, using flannels and toilet paper, maybe it’s just if the touching is intended to be sexual?”

“Your kissing of Charles Weasley was not sexual?”

“Not really. It was more, um, gentle … and nice.”

“Nice. I see.”

Hermione was convinced that he was laughing at her, albeit internally. His black eyes appeared to be sparking with amusement. She summoned her courage, because the sensitive area between her legs was beginning to throb, and she needed him to touch her. 

“I don’t want nice, Sir.”

“Is that so? And what do you want, Granger?”

“I’m very sorry that I kissed Charlie,” she answered, and he arched that eyebrow again. 

Without thinking too deeply about what she was doing, just simply responding to the pull of what the compulsion was screaming for and not losing eye contact with him, she kicked the chair out of the way, and bent over the head of the table, her face hidden in her folded arms. She was mortified, but also unable to stop herself. 

He said nothing, and she did not hear him move. How fucking embarrassing. 

It seemed like an eternity had passed, and she felt him move in behind her, his groin pressed firmly against her jeans-covered bottom. He leaned fully over her, his chest on her back, squashing her against the table and placing his mouth directly next to her ear. She could feel his long, hooked nose burrowing in her hair. 

“Are you sure this is what you want, Granger?” he whispered, each syllable perfectly pronounced and clipped. 

Fuck, his voice really was heaven when she was in this state. 

“Yes,” she managed to gasp. “I feel bad about Charlie, and I need you to take that feeling away. I don’t want him. I want you, Sir.”

Hermione heard his sharp intake of breath as he stood up.

“Very well.”

Snape must have drawn his wand and cast non-verbally, as she was instantly divested of every stitch of her clothing, and her bare nipples were rubbing on the uneven wood of the table surface. 

“A punishment spanking, Granger, is always administered naked. I find it adds to the humiliation and increases the penitence of the culprit,” he told her, in his low, smooth voice, as if he were delivering a classroom lecture. 

His large hands began to stroke down her back, warm and dry over the dip in her spine and down towards her buttocks, igniting every nerve ending they skimmed over. She had no doubt she would be covered in goosepimples at his touch. As he reached her bottom, he cupped her cheeks in both hands and squeezed, pulling them apart, and she could not help but gasp and thrust her rear end upwards as it was opened to the air, to push further into his palms. 

“Such enthusiasm,” he teased, letting go and trailing his fingertips all over her round arse cheeks, standing so close that she could feel his erection pressing against her leg through his trousers. 

“Ow!”

With no warning, he brought a firm slap down on one cheek. 

“That was just the beginning,” he warned, before slapping each in turn, varying the speed and target of his spanks, again and again, never landing in exactly the same place twice. 

“Oh, my god,” she breathed, when he paused for rest, after what seemed like a dozen spanks. 

“Not quite god,” he drawled, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. 

She liked that, too. 

“Open your legs.”

Hermione complied, for really, could she do anything but? She could feel herself dripping wet as she opened her thighs for him, and he ran a hand quickly over her sex, making her squeal. 

“You are dripping wet, Granger,” he remarked, and she heard the distinct sound of him licking her juices from his fingers. “I am not sure you are taking your punishment seriously, and instead you are enjoying it rather more than you should be.”

She could not answer. All she wanted was for him to continue everything he was doing. His hands and voice and actions were driving her to distraction. He peppered her inner thighs with several quick swats, and she had no doubt she was dripping her excitement on his hand as he did so. 

“Spread yourself wider,” he ordered. “I want to see every bit of your hungry little cunt open before me.”

Holding on to the table for support, she lifted her bottom in the air and opened her legs further apart, feeling the cool air hit her burning pussy. Whilst she did so, Hermione could hear the almost silent sound of his zip and buttons being unfastened, and the trousers sliding down his legs and bunching around his boots, his belt buckle hitting the stone tile of the kitchen floor. 

Snape attacked her pussy with some gentler slaps, even gently flicking her clitoris with three fingers like a miniature spanking, but it was still enough to make her bottom twitch with that curious mix of pain and pleasure that she was starting to love. His breathing was now heavy and laboured behind her, and she felt him push the round head of his penis inside her exposed vagina, and grasp her hips, roughly. 

“You, Granger, are a teasing little cunt,” he growled, cramming the rest of his cock inside her with a single hard thrust. “And you should know that I love it, and will fuck you endlessly, because of it.”

“Oh! Bloody hell!” she gasped, as he began to pound into her, his wide, heavy cock filling every inch that she needed him to reach, his balls slapping against her aroused clit. 

He was muttering now, his divine mouth spilling incoherence mingled with the odd swear or bout of filth. 

“Fuck … oh, fuck … shit …”

Hermione felt herself begin to come, for he was rubbing against her inner spot with every thrust. Snape held her hips so tightly that she could barely move, driving her insane with the desire to come, and her internal walls shook and clenched around him as she released, feeling the juice of her orgasm squelching around his cock as he continued to thrust into her hard and fast. 

“Shit … you’re coming … oh, fuck, I feel you, girl … I can feel you … fuck!”

The headmaster groaned out his release with such passion that he sounded almost feral in his desire, spurting warm jets of his own come deep inside her, and she felt each one. 

Just as he slowed his thrusts, he pulled out of her and encircled her waist with his arms, pulling her up from her face-down position on the table and seating her on the edge, not seeming to care that their combined emissions were dripping out of her and on to the wooden surface. He took a firm, commanding hold of her head in one hand, insinuating his long fingers into her hair to achieve a better grip, and helped himself to a breast in the other, fondling it and plying the nipple with his thumb. 

“I do not think, Granger,” he hissed, tilting her head back so she was looking up at him and continuing to excite her nipple, “that you will be kissing Weasley again anytime soon?”

“No, Sir,” she breathed. “I won’t be. But … will you kiss me instead?”

“Do you desire that from me?”

“I need that from you.”

Hermione loved the resigned moan he made as he swooped down hard upon her mouth. It sounded like annoyance, but was far sexier than that. As he moved his lips emphatically, he used his skilled mouth to open hers, and as soon as he’d succeeded his tongue was upon her, darting out of his mouth and coiling frantically with her own, desperate tongue. 

He allowed her to reach up and tangle her own hand in his long hair, permitting her to tug gently on the handful she had grasped, pulling him closer. Her other hand was on his waist, clutching his black robes as he kissed her with increasing passion. She could never have imagined, in all the years of knowing this wizard, that he could deliver a kiss that would leave her panting for more, every time. 

And yet, he did. 

Professor Snape kissed with his whole body, every essence of his feeling, and skill, and capability were poured into it. As his lips plundered her mouth, his tongue sharp and purposeful, Hermione felt his hand tighten in her hair, and his fingers massage and excite her breast as if he’d never touched it before in his life. His softened but still-naked cock was pressed against her wet pussy, rubbing slightly. He was all acceptance, appreciation, and base desire. 

Merlin, she wanted him. For everything that he was, and everything that he wasn’t, she wanted him. 

He stopped abruptly, stepped back, and re-clothed her with an intricate little wave of his wand. She was surprised by the sudden curtailment of their outstanding kiss, and felt strangely bereft with the speed that his lips had left hers. 

“I must return to the school, before I take leave of my senses and carry you to bed,” he told her, with more than a hint of regret in his voice, as he lifted his trousers from around his ankles and refastened them, before buckling his belt.

“You can …” 

“I cannot. I have a role to play. Your compulsion is assuaged, is it not?”

“It is.”

“Then I will speak with you soon. We have much to do, and each one of us have our roles to play. Your job is to search the Black library from top to bottom for books on Dark Magic, of which I have no doubt you will find plenty, and once you find them, see if you can discover anything of Horcruxes, specifically about repairing them once made. Also - Soul Magic, anything you can find on that would also be of great use. There are books in the school library of course, but the dark ones are more likely to be found here. I also suggest that the new Miss Malfoy considers making a connection with her father, if only to purloin from his vast library and personal knowledge of the Dark Arts.”

Hermione gasped. He was recommending that Orla should seek her father?

“In the current wizarding world, Granger, her blood guarantees her a safety net that the rest of us can only dream of.”

Snape leaned forward and kissed her forehead, and it felt like a very final farewell. 

“Please take care, Sir,” she whispered. 

“Severus,” he replied, with a small, lop-sided smile that just crooked one side of his mouth. “Not Sir.”

With that, he spun around, his robe swishing behind him, and headed for the kitchen fireplace. In one gush of green flame, he was gone.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You came to me,” he began, his voice surprisingly quiet and not at all snooty.
> 
> “I had to know,” she replied. “I had to know … how this could have happened.”

Don’t call me Sir, call me Severus. 

“Stupid bastard,” he admonished, mocking his final words to Granger, as he stepped heavily over the grate of his office fireplace. 

He had been only a few kisses away from slinging the girl over his shoulder in the manner of an uncivilised troll brandishing a club, and squiring her up the stairs to her own bedchamber, where he would have exacted a repeat of what had just occurred on the kitchen table, only perhaps with less spanking and allowing sufficient time for his sperm count to reload. 

Ravaging her mouth with all the enthusiasm of a teenage boy getting his first snog, it had taken every bit of his much-vaunted control to wrench himself away from her sweet lips, remove his hand from its grope of her naked tit, and desist grinding his flaccid but still hopeful cock from against her dripping wet cunt. What the hell did he think he was doing? His role was to relieve her curse symptoms, and then leave her be, not use her to slake his own vile lust. 

Physically speaking, there was no getting around the fact that he would gain a certain amount of pleasure from the task, after all, he was but a mere wizard with needs and desires, and what heterosexual wizard would fail to enjoy sex with such a succulent young witch? However, when faced with the reality of Hermione Granger offering him her arse to spank for her imagined crime of kissing a Weasley, or naked and looking up at him, begging him to please kiss her, all good sense went out of the window. He couldn’t get enough, every taste of her left him wanting, it was as if he were still compelled himself. 

Severus hadn’t lied when he’d reassured the girl that he’d had no other witches in his bed since they’d been cursed. However, the full truth was that he simply had no desire to seek out anyone else. Granger was more than enough for him. Hating to be grateful to the Dark Lord for anything, especially as the maniac had nearly killed him whilst forcing him to the absolute limits of his own compulsion, he could not deny that he was inordinately happy to still have a reason to fuck her. 

What would become of them if they achieved their aim and managed to kill Voldemort? It mattered not if they didn’t, since they would both likely die in the attempt, but what if they did? Fuck peace in the entire wizarding world, what he wanted to know right now, was if Granger would still be interested in him, were she not compelled to seek him out sexually? 

His first thought was not to be so astoundingly foolish, of course she bloody wouldn’t. A young, intelligent, brave, academically-brilliant witch would not wish to start a relationship with an ex-Death Eater, twenty years older, and her former professor, to boot. 

But. 

There had been times, many times, during their intimacies, that Granger had freely admitted she was not compelled, and that her actions were her own choice. She had told him she found him attractive. She had complimented his voice, his vocabulary – confessing that his unguarded, lustful words that he spilled during their most private moments brought her pleasure. The girl would not lie about these things. She would have no reason to lie. 

Her bodily responses to his lovemaking were a joy to behold. He had never, in all his years, enjoyed watching a witch come, panting at his touch, quite like Miss Granger. Her orgasms were immense, and she seemed to have an endless supply. The benefit of youth, the compulsion, her own innate sexual response, or a sign of good chemistry between them both? So many unanswered questions, none of which he had the slightest intention of asking. 

There was also the overriding matter that the capability to hold down a successful relationship had thus far eluded him. Snape’s entire adult life had been spent mooning over a unrequited, one-sided, childhood love, and had shaped the very person he had become. He was a resentful, twisted, cynical wizard who had no business dragging a witch down with him, much less a prize such as the young girl that currently occupied all his thoughts. 

As if he would ever be worthy of her. 

The succinct statement was enough to jolt him out of his ruminating, and he barked a coarse, mirthless laugh. He had no right to even think about Hermione Granger in that way. 

Striding through to his bedchamber, he threw off his clothes and headed for the shower to clear his head and cleanse his body before bed, where no doubt his dreams would be full of a curly-haired witch with pert tits and a wet cunt. 

He really was a depraved bastard. 

-xxx-

The smell of sex hit Remus in the olfactory nerves the moment he walked into the kitchen with Teddy tucked in the crook of his arm, the next morning. He’d retired to bed the night before having been firmly ousted with little subtlety by Severus, and had tried very hard not to think about what the two of them were probably doing. From the smells he was picking up with his sensitive nose, they hadn’t even managed to leave the kitchen. 

It was rather disturbing. Of course, he knew Hermione was of age, but she was under a dark curse and whatever was happening between her and Snape sexually was not of her own volition. Despite having great respect for her intelligence and abilities, he still found it difficult to think of Hermione as anything but the young girl he had taught Defence to, in her third year. The thought of her repeatedly shagging a wizard the same age as himself, and such a disagreeable one at that, he found highly inappropriate and distasteful, to say the least. Still, when had Tom Riddle ever done anything tasteful?

The working relationship between the two of them seemed to be sound, and Hermione showed no signs of distress, so Remus had to presume that Severus was, at least, taking her care of her emotionally as well as meeting the physical demands of the curse. He thought back to when Snape had first ensconced him in Grimmauld Place, making sure he was warm, fed and well, and despite everything being delivered in his typical morose, acerbic fashion, the practical care had been consistent. Perhaps he was approaching Hermione’s needs in the same way. Perhaps he wasn’t such a Slytherin arsehole, after all. 

Still, it galled Remus to think that the odious Severus was getting such a reward as Hermione Granger. His former nemesis would have to be made of stone not to be enjoying every moment he was ‘forced’ to spend being intimate with her. 

Walking towards the stove, Remus noticed an indiscreet wet patch on the end of the table, which had clearly received a cursory Tergeo, but his keen eyes and nose noticed it instantly, almost invisibly ingrained into the surface of the old wood. Merlin. The two of them had gone at it over the end of the kitchen table. He closed his eyes in a vain attempt to block the visual imagery of such a coupling. 

Then, to his surprise, Remus felt definite stirrings in the front of his own trousers. He was so taken aback that he nearly dropped his son, planting the child in the safety of his kitchen cradle before gripping the high back of one of the wooden chairs. 

What kind of pervert was he, getting an erection over the thought and smell of another couple having sex? Not that Severus and Hermione were a couple, he reminded himself, with a shudder. 

Breathing a little heavily, he allowed the slight swelling to dissipate, conceding that it had indeed been a long while since he’d last had sex – a few weeks before Teddy was born, in fact. He had found his wife attractive throughout her pregnancy, and such was the newness of their relationship and her joy at finally being together that her own libido barely had diminished, wanting their lovemaking to continue until right near the end when she’d carried low and heavy, accompanied by the mental stress of the impending battle that put paid to more intimate encounters. 

A wizard had needs, oh yes, and Remus was no exception. But to be with another witch who was not Tonks? He could not even countenance it. He missed sex, that was certain, but he missed making love to his wife, she was the only woman he wanted. The thought of seeking out someone new, who was not her, was unthinkable. 

Lupin rubbed his tired face with his hand, sweeping it back through his unkempt, sandy-brown hair with an edge of frustration before walking towards the stove to warm his son’s first bottle of the day. Tonight, he thought, it may be time to introduce his cock back to his right hand again. That method of relief would have to suffice, for now, his mind and emotions were not sufficiently rational for anything more. 

Besides, where would he go? Whom would he seek out? The only witches he currently had contact with were either teenagers, old women, married to someone else or recently bereaved. 

And none of them were Nymphadora Tonks. 

Remus felt a few slow tears of grief track down his face as he warmed the bottle for the tiny son that she would never know. 

-xxx-

Orla lay in the garden hammock in the hot afternoon sun, Teddy asleep on her chest and both of their fair skins were protected by the trees from which the hammock was slung. Remus had conjured it at her request, and he’d seemed surprised as she held her arms out for the baby, who was about to go down for his nap. 

The fresh air would do Teddy good, she’d explained, and it hadn’t taken the infant long to snuffle down into her chest and fall into the kind of deep slumber that was reserved only for the truly innocent. Orla had encouraged Remus to sunbathe again, urging that they all needed plenty of fresh air and sunlight as respite from their enforced incarceration in Grimmauld Place. However essential it was that they remained here, it was still a prison. 

He’d looked at her in the most curious manner, but had been content to allow her to hold his son, and had quickly stripped off his shirt, transfigured it into a large sheet, of sorts, and lay down on the lawn, closing his eyes. Orla looked at him, covertly. His chest looked sturdy and strong, lightly covered with sandy hair, but not so much that some thick scarring wasn’t clearly visible. He’d explained that he would often attack himself whilst transformed, waking up with cuts and scratches, but that the biggest scars had been caused during a fight with his friend, Sirius Black, who was in his Animagus form of a dog, and had been trying to protect Harry Potter and his friends from an unwittingly transformed Lupin. 

Stripped from the waist up and sprawled in the bright sunshine, Remus looked younger than he did when clad in his shabby clothing – his wardrobe consisted mostly of old shirts and knobbly woollen cardigans, topped with a face scarred and prematurely lined. A lock of sandy hair slipped down his forehead and finished up by his ear, as his head sagged to the side in sleep. Good. He needed to rest, and Orla doubted he slept much at night with a young baby to care for. 

She gave the hammock a little push with one foot on the ground and set it to swinging, her hands lightly on Teddy’s back, enjoying the feel of the tiny baby under her hands, and closed her own eyes, thinking of the conversation she’d had with her two housemates, earlier that morning. 

Hermione had eschewed the garden and was currently wading through piles of old books in the Black library, searching out information on subjects she’d been given a list of by Professor Snape. She’d shared this with her and Remus, along with the recommendation that Orla make an attempt to contact Lucius Malfoy, with a view to searching his library for the same, and perhaps getting close enough to him to find out if Malfoy knew what Voldemort intended to do with the destroyed Horcruxes that were being stored so securely. 

The very thought of getting in touch with the wizard who had given her half her genes, and undoubtedly all her magical powers, was terrifying. The last time she had seen Malfoy, he’d been watching his son die, locked in the jaws of a giant snake. The wizard and his wife had been looking utterly shocked as it was revealed he was the father of an illegitimate daughter, and Orla had to wonder at what conversations had passed since them. No doubt they were grieving their son, but Lucius’ paternity could not be ignored, and would likely not be. 

She’d watched the owl fly from the kitchen door just after lunch, clutching the letter that had taken her all morning to write. 

It had been Malfoy’s retribution against Yaxley that had finally given her the impetus to write it. She had suffered greatly at the psychotic Death Eater’s hands, and it seemed that her newly-discovered father had avenged her in every way possible, stopping just short of killing the man, and injuring him enough that he may never leave the hospital. 

Professor Snape had indicated that this was out of character, since Malfoy was not one of the more bloodthirsty Death Eaters, and that he was more of a coward, more inclined to hide from violence than to seek it out. The description reminded her a little of Draco, who could never be called a coward, but had wanted to hide rather than fight. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Marked as a Death Eater, there had been sparse choice for the considerate young wizard she had spent too-short a time with. 

Orla couldn’t help but cast her mind back to that time, together with Draco in their little studio flat above the pharmacy, bringing food to each other’s work, evenings in the local pub and nights discovering each other in bed. Sadly, the final thought brought a wave of shame and embarrassment, since neither of them had known of their sibling connection. Whose fault was that? Lucius Malfoy’s? Or could it have been … her mother’s? Suddenly, she wanted to know. 

-xxx-

The owl had been returned before darkness had fallen that evening. Grimmauld Place might be under a Fidelius charm, but a post owl could find its recipient anywhere in the world. The reply had led her to where she was sitting now, the following afternoon, waiting in a wood-panelled drawing room in Malfoy Manor, accompanied by Charlie, his distinctive red hair now transformed into a nondescript brown using Fleur’s hair-colouring charm to conceal the obvious - that he was a Weasley. 

Orla had insisted on bringing a chaperone with her to Malfoy Manor, and Lucius had agreed, although promising that she was in no danger, but reassured her that he understood her need to feel secure. Hermione and Remus were both in hiding, and none of the other Order members could reveal their alliance with her, lest they jeopardise their own positions, so the unknown Charlie it had to be, and he was willing to do so. Orla was relatively certain that he was looking forward to a spot of adventure. 

She stood up as the large double doors of the drawing room opened, and her newly-discovered father entered with regal bearing, allowing the attendant house-elf to close the doors behind him, and strode towards her, unsmiling, his white-blond hair streaming behind him as he crossed the room quickly, his cane tapping lightly on the floor. 

Lucius Malfoy stood before her, fixing his ice-blue on hers, before searching her face. They were, of course, her own eyes. The eyes that were identical to Draco’s, that had so often been commented on. Everything was so obvious … now. 

“You came to me,” he began, his voice surprisingly quiet and not at all snooty.

“I had to know,” she replied. “I had to know … how this could have happened.”

Malfoy sighed, casting a quick look around the room, noting Charlie who was seated in an armchair before the huge fireplace, unobtrusive and not participating, but effecting a definite warning presence, should discussions take a turn for the worse. Malfoy indicated the large, hard sofa, and they seated themselves, facing towards one another. Was it her imagination, or did he seem as nervous as she felt? The thought gave her a strange comfort. 

“Believe me when I say that I had no idea I had fathered a daughter. Angela Clairvhelly and I had a brief, rather painfully intense affair during the summer I spent in Narraghmore. My marriage was … strained at that time, and I behaved in a reprehensible manner, taking up with another woman whilst my wife was struggling to conceive. Angela and I parted at the end of the summer with no promises to keep in touch. It was an agreed ‘summer romance’ for the both of us. I have never heard from her since.”

“I tried to remember when my parents met, when they got married, but I can’t. I’m not sure they ever told me,” she offered, in way of reply. 

“Then there are two possibilities, as I see it,” Malfoy said, placing an elegant arm along the back of the sofa. “Either your mother was already in a relationship with your father at the time, and either believed the baby was his, or pretended it was. I think this would have been easy to do, as from what I remember of Angela, you resemble her greatly?”

“She did,” Orla confirmed, nodding. “I look just like her, well, I thought I did. Since I met you, and Draco, I suppose it’s rather obvious what family I come from. My father, the man I thought of as my father, Gerard Roach, had red hair and I looked nothing like him.”

“The other possibility is that Angela discovered she was pregnant and enticed Mr Roach to believe you were his, or they arranged a consenting agreement thus.”

Neither of Malfoy’s suggestions were particularly palatable, but Orla had to concede that she couldn’t think of anything else that was likely, and with both her parents dead, she would never know.

“Did my mum know you were a wizard?” she asked, suddenly interested, since her parents had always been so accepting of her magical abilities, that might indicate her mother’s lack of surprise when she was revealed as a witch. 

“She did not,” he replied, smoothly. “In a long-term relationship with a Muggle, they of course become aware of our powers, and of the magical world, but as I have told you, this was a short affair that meant very little to either of us.”

Orla winced to hear the circumstances of her conception described as such. 

“I apologise if that pains you,” he said, a concerned look on his pale face. 

“It’s a bitter potion to swallow, I’ll give you that,” she admitted. 

There was an awkward silence that stretched beyond what either of them were comfortable with. Clearly, he had more questions to ask, and Orla was sure she could guess one, in particular. 

“May I ask, Orla, of the exact nature of your relationship with Draco?”

She saw Charlie visibly shift in his chair, ready to leap into action and whisk her out of there if needed. There was bound to be all sorts of anti-Apparition wards on the Manor, as they’d had to Apparate to the main gates and request entry, so a quick exit was unlikely to be simple.

“We became friends when I returned to Hogwarts, after the battle. Draco was appalled at how I was being treated, as a Muggle-born, and in turn he was terrified of being aligned with the Death Eaters. We escaped the school together, and lived as Muggles. Our life, for the few weeks we spent together, was good.”

“But were you …”

“Yes! We were, ok? Is that what you wanted to hear?” Orla shouted, angrily. “My half-brother and I were sleeping together! Not straight away, but after a while. And it was beautiful! We made love innocently, we didn’t know who we were to one another, how could we have done?”

Malfoy hung his head, and Orla could see a red flush of shame through the curtain of white hair. She lowered her voice. 

“I apologise for raising my voice.”

He looked up, his eyes clear and honest. 

“I should be the one who is apologising to you. What’s done is done, and I do not blame either yourself or Draco for what happened between you. As you have said, how could you have known? Even I, your father, did not know.”

“My father …” she murmured.

“If you allow it.”

“I’m scared of you. In fact, I’m terrified of you.”

“You are a Malfoy, Orla. You are entitled to take your place in our society and your place in this home - there is no need for you to be in hiding. When your blood status was presumed to be unworthy, you were treated appallingly, in such a way that no Malfoy should ever have to endure. I have wreaked my revenge upon Corban Yaxley, and avenged your honour. He will never again lay a hand upon my daughter, and nor will anyone else.”

She flickered her eyes towards Charlie, and saw the anger burning there, and knew they were having the same thought. That Malfoy believed it was acceptable to abuse Muggles, or those witches and wizards who were Muggle-born, but not those of half or pure blood. It was the stench of racism and pureblood supremacy that was the cancer currently destroying the wizarding world. It was Voldemort’s ideal, and he sought validation through these peacock pureblood families who were only too keen to lap up the myth that some bloods were ‘dirtier’ and somehow less worthy than others. How utterly ridiculous. How dangerous.

“Can I have some time?” she asked. “This is all such a lot to take in. Do I have to move in straight away?”

“I can give you a little time to clear your head. But this is where you belong, and I shall stop at nothing to bring you home, my daughter. I expect you to return here within the week. I cannot ensure your safety if you are not under my roof and my protection.”

“I understand. I just need to think. I mean, I don’t even know you. I can’t even think what I should call you.”

“Draco used to find that Father worked rather well,” Lucius replied, smiling in a smug way that she found nauseating, considering what he had just said. 

“I’ll try,” she replied, not trusting herself to say what she really thought, lest she want to get her and Charlie both killed. 

“Good girl. We will get along amiably, I am sure. You are in need of parents, and I am in need of a new child, after the loss of my son. The situation could not be better. And in confidence, my daughter, it gave me great pleasure to hex the life from Corban Yaxley. The man is a hideous waste of space.”

Lucius Malfoy’s conclusion, apparently unbothered by human grief and emotion, stunned Orla to silence. She indicated to Charlie that she needed to leave, and he rose from his chair by the unlit fireplace, crossing the room and offering his arm for her to take. 

“I am going to take Orla home now, Mr Malfoy,” Charlie announced, in a manner that suggested he would brook no argument. “Please can you release the wards from this room so that I can Apparate her directly from here?”

Malfoy arched an elegant eyebrow, but nonetheless drew his wand and cast, Orla feeling the security of the wards drop around them. 

“And you are?” her father asked.

“I’m your worst nightmare,” Charlie retorted, grinning. “Orla will return when she’s good and ready. If you want your daughter to trust you, you’ll give her the time she needs.”

Lucius pulled a sour face as if he was sucking on a particularly bitter lemon. 

“I sincerely hope that you are not her current paramour?”

“You never know,” teased Charlie, with a wink, and Apparated them away with a loud crack, before Malfoy could say any more.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think you deserve to be happy, too,” she answered. 
> 
> “Then we both have very different opinions on what I deserve.”

It was a mere couple of days after their spankingly-good session on the kitchen table, and the day after Orla and Charlie had visited Malfoy Manor, that Hermione felt the pull of the compulsion again. She had been in the Black family library late that evening when she’d become aware of the first stirrings, whilst buried deep in ‘Secrets of the Darkest Art’ - the old, possibly medieval, tome by Owle Bullock that she had managed to summon from Dumbledore’s office before they’d left school in their sixth year to hunt for Horcruxes. 

There was more information on Horcrux creation and destruction in this one book than in anything she’d found in the school library, or here in the Grimmauld reading room. If there was anything new to be discovered, any shred of information that might throw some light on what Voldemort was attempting to do with the inanimate shells of the destroyed Horcruxes, it would surely be in this book. 

Hermione had been familiarising herself, during the course of a most unpleasant reading session, with exactly how a Horcrux was made, and it sounded like a horrendously painful experience, to split one’s soul and store a portion of it outside one’s body. That was without the hideousness of the murder of an innocent that needed to happen in order to shatter the soul in the first place. 

There was plenty of advice on how and where to store your Horcrux, of course, Owle Bullock had written the book presuming that the witch or wizard would only ever create one, never dreaming that centuries later a psychopath such as Tom Riddle would hoard several receptacles in which to guard multiple slivers of his broken soul. 

Then there were the chapters that had proved so useful during their time on the run – those that described and warned against how one’s Horcrux could be destroyed, information that they had used against Voldemort to kill each one, they’d presumed, beyond repair.

However, there was nothing, as far as Hermione could see, about reanimating one. Were they certain that was what Voldemort was doing? Perhaps he simply wanted to keep the destroyed Horcruxes under secure hold in a mausoleum of some kind, using the Gringotts vault for this purpose. Perhaps not. 

She remembered Harry telling her that Voldemort had once taunted Dumbledore that he had gone “further along the path of immortality than anyone before.” Harry had said that Voldemort had been devising his own forms of dark sorcery, new spells, new curses, new horrors. It was entirely likely that if he were trying to reanimate one, or all, of his Horcruxes, that the answer would not be found in a medieval book. Owle Bullock devised how to make a Horcrux, it was entirely possible that Lord Voldemort could devise how to reanimate one. 

Hermione had heard Remus go upstairs to bed a short while earlier, and Orla had not been out of her room all day, insisting that she was fine, but needed some time to think about the meeting with her father. The kitchen would be empty, and she wondered if Snape would be in his office. The compulsion could likely wait until tomorrow, but she didn’t really feel like waiting. As if to prompt her, her stomach gave a hard little jump, a lurch of excitement that propelled her to replace ‘Secrets of the Darkest Art’ on the bookshelf, and tread lightly down the narrow hallway of Grimmauld Place to head for the kitchen fireplace. 

She cast a jet of green flame through the Floo to the Headmaster’s office, a clever signal that Snape had devised to avoid Remus having to stick his head through the flames to call him, lest he have visitors (or Death Eaters) in his office who would be only too pleased to know that Headmaster Snape was aware of the whereabouts of the fugitive werewolf, Remus Lupin.

His dark head appeared in the fire almost immediately, responding to her call and glowing a curious green in the emerald flames of the Floo. He really did look positively Slytherin, shrouded in his house colours, she thought, amused. 

“Good evening,” he rumbled. “I am alone. You may come through, if you wish?”

“Through to the school?” 

“The castle is now empty for the summer holidays, excepting the house-elves. No person but the Headmaster is permitted to be in residence during the summer, all students and staff are to return home. Even the minions of the Dark Lord have had to leave, for it is the way the wards of the school are set, and have been for centuries.”

“How very convenient.”

“Indeed. Now, are you coming through?”

“I am.”

Hermione stood up from her crouched position on the kitchen hearth, smoothing the front of her short summer dress unnecessarily and grabbing a handful of Floo powder that she tossed into the flames as she stepped over the grate and entered the familiar circular office, which was still devoid of portraits. A sombre piece of classical music was playing on what sounded like a scratchy old gramophone, although she could not see it.

Snape was seated in one of the high-backed armchairs by the fire, a heavy glass of amber liquid held delicately in his long fingers, which he placed on the side table and rose to his feet. Hermione’s stomach lurched again, the demands of the compulsion tugging her towards him, emotionally and physically. He looked deliciously unkempt, wearing only a crumpled white shirt rolled up to the elbows, and his usual black trousers. His feet were bare, and his hair looked as if he had recently run a terse hand through it, as it was roughly pushed back from his face and falling upon his shoulders. 

He was not a handsome wizard, his nose and gaunt features saw to that, yet he was utterly compelling. Of course he was, because the spell that had been cast upon her insisted that she must find him so. Hermione stood on the hearth rug, looking at him quizzically for far longer than was strictly polite. 

“Are you sure it is safe for me to be here?” she asked, as he approached her. 

“I assure you that it is. There are wards and restrictions on this castle that even I cannot undo; centuries-old magic imbued within its very walls. Until the first of September, the school is open only to the current headmaster, or headmistress. No one can detect your presence here, unless I change my own personal wards to do so.”

Hermione relaxed at Professor Snape’s assured tone, and the compulsion thrummed hard as he came within touching distance. Unable to stop herself, she reached out her hands and placed them on his abdomen, feeling his breath hitch and his stomach contract beneath her palms. She quickly trailed them up his chest, hooking one hand around his neck and grabbing a fistful of the long, black hair, pulling his head down and helping herself to an urgent, tugging kiss of his warm lips. 

“You greet me like a lover, witch,” he warned, his head still held to one side where she had pulled it, his lips inches from hers, and a guarded but hungry look in his black eyes. 

“You are the only lover I have ever known,” she replied, lightly brushing her lips against his mouth, not kissing, just touching. 

“I am regretful of that fact. You deserve so much more. It is unthinkable that you have been condemned to this.”

“Condemned to what? To having fulfilling sex with a wizard who is caring and respectful? I would say that is not so terribly bad.”

Snape crooked one side of his mouth upwards, into an approximation of a smile, before spinning her around sharply so that her back was pressed to his chest, sliding his hand quickly down her body and under the skirt of her dress.

“No knickers, Granger?” he drawled, against her earlobe, his breath hot and sensual as he stroked the bare curve of her hips, where her underwear should be, as if pleased by his discovery. 

“I thought removing them would expediate the process,” she shot back, and he would be able to hear the smile in her voice, even though he could not see her face. 

“I heartily approve. Now, open your legs and allow me access so that I may assist you. I presume the reason for your visit is because you are compelled?”

She nodded against him, and he dropped his mouth to her neck, burrowing his sizeable nose under her mane of hair and attaching his lips to the sensitive cords he found there, kissing and flickering her hot skin with his sharp tongue. His left hand sought her breast, over her dress, and began to fondle, whilst the long fingers of his right burrowed between her legs, pried open her labia and found her clitoris, beginning a soft tickle against it, gently but persistently exciting her. Hermione was unable to stop herself letting out a sigh of relief. 

“You like that, don’t you? You like me touching you?”

His voice vibrated on her neck, millimetres from her skin, as he masturbated her with skill and precision. Her legs began to tremble beneath her, and she hoped he had a firm hold of her body lest her limbs collapse in a pathetic heap. 

“I do,” she admitted, quietly. “I really do.”

“You do,” he repeated, in that devastatingly low tone that was doing as much to to arouse her as his fingers were. “So, why aren’t you coming for me?”

At his words, he sped up the circling movements of his fingers, swiping against the very spot that made her feel as if she were going to wet herself. 

“I don’t … want,” she panted, with some effort, “don’t want it … to be over too quickly.”

“Come for me, girl, for my entire night is at your disposal, should you require it.”

Oh, Merlin. 

Hermione gave herself permission to let go, allowing the professor to take her weight and pressing her head back against his shoulder as he rubbed her to orgasm, her hips keening as she writhed on his invading hand. 

“Good girl. Let me have it all. Every bit.”

He slipped his hand lower and pushed two fingers inside her, stretching her, and she felt the gush of her juices that he had elicited, with a bit of help from the compulsion. His other arm clamped tightly around her waist, holding her steady. 

“Do you want more, Granger?” he demanded, tersely, thrusting his fingers deep inside her channel. 

“Yes … oh, fuck, yes … more, please.”

Suddenly, she was more desperate than when she had first felt the compulsion, back in the library. Desire begets desire. The more she got, the more she wanted. That part had not changed, but now it was only her with the uncontrollable desire, Snape just had to satisfy it. 

Removing his fingers from her, and letting go, rather abruptly, Snape left her standing there and returned to his armchair. She turned around in surprise, watching as he picked up the glass of what she presumed to be firewhisky and took a long, languorous sip, before fixing her with his black eyes and sucking her juices from his fingers as if they were as fine a nectar as what was in the glass. 

Hermione remained standing where she was, curious to see what his plan was. His slow, definite movements were teasing and arousing. Thank goodness she’d already come, or his drawn-out seduction, if that was what it was, would have had her trembling with need by now. 

Not breaking his gaze, his black eyes locked to hers, he unhooked his belt and the fastenings on his trousers, and lifting his hips slightly, pushed them down his thighs to his knees, remaining seated in the armchair. His cock was erect, standing proudly upwards, and she could not help staring at it, the size and power of it never ceasing to interest her. He took himself in hand and stroked around his length and girth, not to arouse, but to prepare, Hermione felt. He quirked an eyebrow at her. 

“May I interest you in taking a seat, Miss Granger?”

She wasn’t sure if she’d ever been so interested in taking a seat. Fucking hell, there was no way she could stop herself walking forwards and kneeling either side of him on the wide seat of the armchair, the loose skirt of her short dress covering his hand as he guided the rounded head of his penis towards her, fumbling slightly as he sought her wet hole and pushed the swollen tip inside. She squeezed her vaginal muscles around the intruder, and watched his eyes flash with a shot of arousal. He removed his hands and placed one elbow nonchalantly on the arm of the chair, two fingers under his own chin as if appraising her, as if she was slightly amusing to him. 

“You may sit down now.”

Resting her hands lightly on his shoulders lest she overbalance and embarrass herself, Hermione slid down the entire length of his erection until his cock was fully seated inside her, and squeezed her internal muscles again. 

“Fuck!” he swore, struggling to keep his relaxed pose, although he managed it. 

Remembering the time when she had ridden him in his own bed, she began to move her hips, pushing upwards with her knees and sliding down again, building up a rhythm that excited her, feeling his cock twitch with pleasure, deep inside. Snape used the hand he was not resting his chin on to grab a tight hold of her hip, digging into her flesh with his fingers, as if holding on to her as tightly as he would his self-control. He was still looking at her insouciantly as she fucked him, but his eyes betrayed the passion that was building. 

His penis bumped repeatedly against the sweet spot deep inside that both irritated and aroused her beyond belief, and she seated herself more firmly, moving her hips faster until she was effectively rutting in his lap. He swore again, louder and longer this time. With a wave of his hand, she was naked; dress and brassiere banished goodness knows where. 

“Fucking hell, girl!” he exclaimed, his eyes devouring her nudity and taking hold of a bare breast, squeezing it roughly as she continued to writhe against him. “How did you learn to fuck like this?”

“From you,” she whispered, leaning forwards and sliding her hands from his white-shirted shoulders up to his bare neck, which she clasped. 

“From me,” he repeated, and Hermione could feel his hips begin to move with her own as she drove them both higher, one hand gripping the nape of his neck and the other on the steady wingback of the chair. 

She had not expected, when she arrived, to be grinding in his lap in this manner within a few minutes, but their moans of arousal were now bouncing off the empty, echoing walls of the cavernous office, as she fucked him in his own chair. His black hair was hanging in his face now, his teeth bared and gritted as he chased his orgasm, the desperation in his eyes urging her on, faster and faster. 

“Finish me,” Snape begged, now grasping both her hips, one in each hand, moving her rapidly against him in an increasingly frenzied pace. “Please, finish me … oh gods, fuck!”

He gave a long, drawn-out cry as he came, a guttural groan that lasted as he spurted inside her again and again, bumping her up with each thrust. She clutched him to her chest, stroking his back, allowing him to suckle and fondle her breasts as he came down from his peak. He greedily took her hard nipples into his mouth, sighing with relief and pleasure, before slowing to a stop with his arms around her waist, and his dark head laying on her chest, the long, thin strands of hair tickling her breasts as he rested there, breathing heavily. 

At length, he leaned back in the armchair, and Hermione took this as her cue to remove herself from his lap, and his softened penis slipped out of her. He plucked his wand, apparently from nowhere, and shot a cleansing charm between her legs, saving her the indignity of having their combined emissions dripping down her thighs as she stood. He did not stand with her. Instead he remained in the chair, gazing at her nakedness. 

“You, Granger, have an exquisitely beautiful body.”

She could feel herself blushing at the compliment, which was somewhat inane since they’d just had sex, but she couldn’t help it. 

“I am an extremely fortunate wizard to have the pleasure of looking upon it, and being selfishly able to take my fill of such a creation.”

Hermione shivered, for despite the warm summer air, it was still night time, and the castle was never particularly well-heated. Everyone kept their fires on a low burn, even during the summer months. However, she also felt vulnerable, standing there naked in front of him. 

“Please, would you stand with me?” she asked, tentatively. 

He picked up on her discomfort immediately, rising to his feet and using his wand to divest himself of all his remaining clothing, before wrapping his arms around her, and the feel of his bared skin upon her own felt blissful. 

“Is that better?” he enquired. 

“Much.”

She could feel his heart thumping fast beneath her ear as he held her naked body against his. He wasn’t nervous, was he? 

“Did you say something about being at my disposal all night, Sir?”

“If you have need of me, then yes, most certainly.”

“I am not in need, Professor. I simply want to be with you.”

Snape pulled back so that he could look at her, taking hold of her arms and gently thumbing them, looking her deep in the eyes as if to assess her sincerity. 

“Granger, you do not want me. You are compelled to think so. I feel wretched for taking advantage of that compulsion, yet it is so difficult not to, for you are an exquisitely desirable witch.”

“I … I think I do want you, though. For real. Not because of the curse.”

“You cannot possibly know that.”

“In the last few months, I have lost everything. My parents, my best friends, my education and the whole world that I loved. The only thing that feels like a safe harbour … is you, Sir. Please don’t push me away.”

She felt tears spring to her eyes, and he surprisingly lifted a hand to tenderly wipe them from where they rolled down her cheeks. 

“I would never push you away, girl. But you must understand, this is only a temporary state. It is my fervent hope that we will succeed in usurping the Dark Lord, and with the help of our allies, return the wizarding world to a state of peace. When that happens, and I will say when, for the alternative is unthinkable, you shall be free of me, and free to take up with any wizard you choose. I have no doubt that your free choice would not be me.”

“But … but, if it was … would you have me?”

Hermione gulped, for she had finally dared to ask the question that had been rattling around in her mind for weeks. The feelings, these intense feelings that she had for this wizard, were they because of the curse? Because she had lost everyone else? Or could they possibly be real?

“You are grieving.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He sighed with annoyance as she backed him into a metaphorical corner. He was naked in his own office with her just as naked, as she asked him for a commitment that he could not possibly give. 

“Granger,” he said, quietly. “If there is ever a world where a witch such as yourself wants a wizard like me, I would be a fool to turn you down. But this decision cannot be made now, not while you are still cursed, not whilst you are grieving the loss of your friends, your family, your whole life as you knew it.”

“Everything is gone. Everyone is gone. My old life is gone. I need to accept that and create a new one.”

“Indeed, you do. But wait a while, lovely girl, wait until you know what that new life is going to be. I will not allow you to declare now, whilst things are so uncertain. For if you promised yourself to me, and then felt you could not honour it, once the war is won, my heart … Hermione. My heart would never survive it.”

That was it. 

He had laid himself as bare as she had, and she found his simple honesty along with the utter consideration of her own feelings was as compelling as the curse symptoms. And he had used her name. There was nothing more to be said, for now. She took his hand, and led him to the door in the wood panelling that led through to his own bedchamber. 

-xxx-

Severus pulled the covers over their bodies and entwined himself around her in the centre of the huge four-poster bed in the centre of the Headmasters’ chambers. His heart was beating so fast that he was afraid that she might feel it, her naked back laying against his chest. This girl had declared her feelings to him, and he had returned them, but not allowed them, for the child was not only wrought with grief, but was also beholden to him under a Dark sexual compulsion curse, and the wizarding world was in the grip of a madman. Her feelings, however true she might feel them to be, would be in turmoil, and he would be the worst of men to expect her to remain true to anything … afterwards. 

He would protect both their hearts, not just his own. 

“I miss my friends so much,” she whispered, and he felt her wriggle closer to him, if that was possible, seeking the comfort she so desperately needed. 

Granger must be desperate if she was seeking comfort from him, nonetheless he would endeavour to provide it. He kissed her head through her abundant hair and wrapped his legs around her, in addition to his arms that were already there. 

“They were taken from you most cruelly,” Severus admitted, his voice quiet and serious. “Do not underestimate what you have lost, nor what the three of you achieved. Yourself, Potter and Weasley did more to bring about the demise of the Dark Lord than any other.”

“Harry and Ron were so brave.”

“Indeed, they were. As were you. Potter would not have succeeded to the point that he did without your precise research and attention to detail. Albus told me that Potter would need you, and in that he was correct.”

“I cannot bear to think of a world without them in it,” she sobbed, the tears falling freely now, and he tried to wipe them with his fingertips, not succeeding, and summoned a clean handkerchief instead. “And not just Harry and Ron – all the others too. All the Weasleys! Merlin, how Charlie must be coping I have no idea. All my friends – Neville and the others, and even Draco sounds like he was a great loss. And that is before I even begin to think about what I did to my parents.”

Severus allowed her to cry out in his arms, mostly likely dripping snot on his pillowcases as she faced away from him, cradled fully in his arms and legs, but he cared little. 

“It has been a huge tragedy, and you are right to grieve, right to cry. That is normal and natural. Right now, we have a cause to fight for, and I hope that we will succeed, so that such a catalogue of appalling tragedies cannot ever happen again. After that, I give you my word that if you need me, I will be here for you in whatever form you desire. As a friend, a confidante, as an advisor …”

“As a lover?” she interrupted, her voice watery and small. 

He paused, not wanting to make promises to her that she might feel duty-bound to honour. 

“If that is what you truly desire.”

“I do.”

“I will not allow you to make that decision now. I have explained why.”

“But what about what you want?”

“My desires have mattered little for many years now, Granger. I exist solely to do the bidding of others. First my father, then Lily Evans, followed by the students that became the Death Eaters, the Dark Lord, and then Albus Dumbledore.”

Shit, he was spilling his guts, here. He was attempting to provide the girl with comfort and instead he had allowed it to become some kind of quasi-therapy session for himself.

“I think you deserve to be happy, too,” she answered. 

“Then we both have very different opinions on what I deserve.”

She was quiet, and for a while nothing could be heard apart from their own breathing, and the occasional muffled sob from her. He kissed her head again, and trailed his fingertips down her bare arm, moving his mouth to her shoulder and kissing the soft, warm skin that he found there. 

“Severus? I need you,” she said, quietly.

Merlin, she’d used his name. If only she knew how the sound of his given name from her mouth sent a jolt of arousal straight to his groin. It was so personal, so intimate, so private between the two of them. All the things he’d promised himself that this strange little relationship would never become. 

“I am here. What can I give you?”

“Anything that you are able.”

She reached up and took hold of his hand, pulling it around to her breast, and there was nothing he could do but begin to squeeze her firm tit, thumbing the nipple as he kissed from her shoulder to her neck, enjoying her slight writhe against him as she encouraged his exploration. 

This? This he could do. 

Sliding his hand down her body, he lifted her upper leg, opening her thighs and guiding it backwards to rest over his own so that he could push his semi-interested cock against her hot cunt. Whilst he waited for the full co-operation of his penis, having already spilled its load less than half an hour previously, Severus slipped his hand back over her hip and delved between her labia, using his long fingers to open her up even further than she was already splayed. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, taking hold of his other hand that was under her head, and clutching it tightly. “Yesss …”

He’d never had a witch so desperate for his touch at every opportunity, and for now, he would not overthink it. They had both declared their intentions, now it was time to get on with the jobs that needed to be done. Retaking the Ministry, reclaiming the school, and assassinating a tyrant. But first, there were the demands of a compulsion curse to satisfy, which was infinitely more pleasurable than the other chores on his to-do list. 

Severus took hold of her needy little clit and began to roll it between his third finger and his thumb, feeling it swell beneath his touch, and hearing her gasp at his firm hold on her most sensitive part. 

“I really love that,” she hissed, wriggling in his arms.

“I know you do, little witch,” he growled in her ear, jostling his hardening cock against her wet folds.

He was as aroused as she, despite no longer being under the compulsion. 

“Would you like me to fuck you at the same time, or make you come first?”

“At the same time, please, Sir.”

“Not Sir.”

“Severus. At the same time, please.”

Wench. Even in the depths of despair this little Nimue teased and tormented him in the most deliciously wicked of ways. He kept his fingers dabbling in her cunt, flickering around her clitoris and the inner walls of her labia, for his now-solid erection needed no assistance to find its way to her still-wet, gaping hole that was spread wide open, across his thigh. He pushed inside, seeking the blissful clutch of her tight pussy around him like a hot glove. 

He began to thrust in and out, building up a rhythm whilst masturbating her manually, jostling her clit and tickling her urethral opening so that she was fully stimulated, fully engaged. A mighty orgasm would quiet her mind, remind her that she was alive and had so much to live for, and to go some small way towards easing her terrible grief. 

“Fuck …” she breathed. “Oh fuck, … yes, Oh! Shit …”

Severus rocked inside her, keeping his thrusts steady and purposeful, ensuring that he kept up his constant agitation of her clit, chasing her orgasm down, pushing her nearer to the edge. 

“You are close, little witch,” he murmured. “I can feel that you are close. You want to come, don’t you?”

“I do … I do. Push me harder … faster.”

She was panting and somewhat incoherent, but he knew what she needed. He could read her non-verbal signals like a book, typical Gryffindor, she couldn’t hide anything. He sped up his thrusts, pistoning into her with such speed and force that he knew his own orgasm would not take long. No longer performing delicate moves with his hand, he was now frigging the front of her sex with his full hand, desperate for her to reach climax with him. 

“Come with me,” he groaned out, through clenched teeth. “Come with me … please … oh god …”

Granger cried out with a scream of finality, and he felt her clit pulse under his fingers, and her cunt contract around his cock. Severus let go with a flurry of final thrusts, his hips slamming against her bottom as he came, pouring every bit of love and affection into her in the only way he would allow himself to. 

He swept his hands over as much of her sweating body as he could, touching her, soothing her, needing to feel again the sublime curves he now knew so well. This young witch had accepted his own body with approval and acceptance, uncaring of the age or damaged condition in which it came, and gifted him with nothing but perfection in return. 

As they returned to themselves, she slipped an arm behind her, reaching for his head and pulling him down to gift him with a kiss. It was a deep, searching kiss, and for once it was she who pushed her own tongue into his mouth, wanting more, needing to feel him deeply. 

Severus decided that it was very fortunate that his mouth was otherwise engaged, otherwise he would be at risk of spilling his true feelings as if she had dosed him with Veritaserum. 

Gods, I love you, girl, he wanted to say. 

I love you with a depth of passion that I never believed might live inside my blackened soul.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do you desire of me?” he asked, knowing that his black eyes were boring into hers. 
> 
> “More.”

Severus awoke the next morning as the grey strands of dawn began to thread their way through the narrow castle windows set high in the walls of his bedchamber. Turning to face the source of the unexpected warmth next to him, the witch that had arrived like a thief in the night and stolen his heart and sanity, he looked upon the visitor who had fucked him senseless, and then snuggled up next to him like a small child needing comfort.

She was already awake, her face still flushed with the heat of deep slumber, eyes only recently opened. No doubt him moving and turning had awakened her. 

“What time is it?” she murmured, pushing a clump of messy curls away from her face.

“I should imagine it is not yet six,” he replied, glancing at the small amount of light outside.

Granger edged a hand across the mattress towards him, stroking the sparse black hair on his naked chest, her small fingertips tracing around a particularly vicious-looking scar; an unpleasant souvenir from one of the Dark Lord’s many punishment sessions. 

“Is there time for more?”

Was she serious? There was no possible way that the girl was compelled, and yet she was seeking him out. She was too tempting, too comforting, too close to his heart for him ever to reject her. 

“What do you desire of me?” he asked, knowing that his black eyes were boring into hers. 

“More.”

She shuffled her body across the bed, closing the gap between them and pressing her nakedness along the full length of his front. Catching him around the head with her hand, she stole his mouth again, as she had done last night. He was a happy victim, however, and allowed her to peck searching little kisses upon his lips, raking her fingers through his hair in her inexperienced attempts to entice him. 

However, there would never be any need for her to employ such tactics, since his desire for her was ever-present, and it was less than a minute before he opened his mouth to receive her, pushing back on her tongue with his own, returning her attentions by tumbling her over on to her back and running a rough hand down the side of her smooth body. Merlin, he loved the very feel of her, he could touch and stroke her soft skin endlessly. 

Propping himself up on one elbow, he leaned over her and continued to plunder her mouth from above, swiping his tongue around hers with increasing speed, enjoying the small squeaks of pleasure that were escaping from her. His other hand touched her everywhere as he kissed her sweet lips – stroking, squeezing, massaging, and at length he pushed her thighs apart, feeling the intensity of her kissing increase as he spread her labia and began to play with her most sensitive parts. 

Dipping two fingers inside her, he drew out some of her wetness and spread it around her clitoris, starting a slow circle around the bud, which began to swell under his touch. As he allowed the delicate nub to slide between his fingers; dropping it, before picking it up again immediately, she moaned into his mouth, and he drew back a fraction from their open-mouthed kiss. 

“Tell me you like my touch, Granger,” he begged, sounding far too needy for his own liking. 

“I love how you touch me,” she sighed in reply, licking along his lower lip. 

He groaned loudly, his actions completely unguarded. He was lost to this girl. 

Lost.

“Do you need me to fuck you, after you come?” he asked, not ceasing the movements of his fingers. 

“Yes, Severus,” she replied, without him needing to remind her not to call him Sir. “Yes, I want you to make love to me after, please.”

Her choice of words were not lost on him. 

“Then I suggest that we seek your climax sooner rather than later,” he advised, crudely bumping his erection against her thigh, “since I have a pressing issue that I require your assistance with.”

She smiled, amused by his attempt at humour, and it was beautiful. He wasn’t sure a witch had granted him with such an accepting, desiring smile ever in his life. He dropped his head to her breast, opening his mouth and fixing his lips around her firm tit, licking around her nipple before suckling the hardening peak into his mouth, gratified to hear a sharp intake of breath that indicated her pleasure as he sped up the movements of his fingers that were working on her sex. 

Severus took hold of her clitoris and began to masturbate the nub in earnest, keeping up a relentless movement of twisting, stroking and circling, feeling her hips rise, thrusting upwards as she became more and more aroused. Her cries became more desperate, more frustrated, and he nipped the skin of her breast, stimulating her further. 

“You are ready to come now, aren’t you?” he teased, bouncing her hard little clit on a single finger. 

“Yes … shit, yes, I am … please.”

Severus chuckled, and spun her clit between his thumb and forefinger with no surcease, giving her no choice but to throw herself over the edge of her orgasm, her hot juices spurting from her as she came, her stomach contracting hard with the effort. He gazed down at her, writhing underneath the touch of his hand, her abundant hair surrounding her head like the corona of a debauched angel as her face and chest flush with the red bloom of her climax. 

Fucking hell, he wanted her. 

“Oh, good girl,” he praised. “That was exceptional, and I enjoyed watching you.”

“Please make love to me now,” she begged. “I need you so much.”

Not needing the direction, he clambered atop her, wriggling his hips into place between her thighs, nudging her legs wider to admit him as he did so. Guiding his cock to her still-pulsing entrance, he crammed himself inside her with one hard thrust, pushing her up the bed with its sheer force. 

“Fuck!” she exclaimed, her hands instantly flying to his back and gripping his skin, hard. 

“That was the intention, yes,” he drawled, beginning to immediately pump his hips and create friction between their conjoined genitals. 

“I love to fuck you, Sir,” she said, quietly, looking him directly in the eye as he moved atop her. 

Severus was so shocked to hear her bold and direct statement that he forgot to reprimand her for the use of his school title. At that moment, it mattered not who they were to one another, it mattered only that they were an adult witch and wizard, joined together in a dance as old as time. He slid his arms under her back and hooked his hands firmly over her shoulders, pulling her down so he could piston into her so thoroughly that she would never forget him, wherever her life took her. 

“I would fuck you every day for the rest of my life, Granger, should you so desire it.”

Her small hands gripped his flanks, sliding down to grasp his hips, forcing him inside her faster, harder, and deeper, seemingly more enthused after his unguarded declaration. He pounded against her, balls slapping against her arse, until his orgasm came exploding from the end of his cock, bathing her insides and causing the most outstanding pulses along the full length of his penis. And the tip, fucking hell, the tip was so sensitive he almost passed out from the pleasure. 

Severus forced himself to pull out of her, and lay back panting, covered in their combined fluids, and also the dried remains of last night’s endeavours. 

There was only one way to proceed. He summoned his wand to his fingertips, and cast it towards the bathroom, setting the many taps on the huge sunken bath to flowing, and the smells of bathing herbs began to furl through the open door, carried along on the wafts of steam from the cascading water. 

“We need to wash, little witch. Can you I tempt you to join me?”

-xxx-

Snape held her hand as she walked down the two stone steps into the bath, in a strangely gentlemanly manner, as if he were walking her into a grand ball, not both of them naked and getting into a bath to wash off the fluids and scents of a night of sex. 

Hermione sank into the heavenly bathtub, easily big enough for four people, that reminded her so much of a miniature-sized version of the enormous prefects’ bath. Whatever herbal concoction that Snape had added to the water smelt amazing, and she could feel it working on her sore muscles the second she stepped in. She dipped straight under the water, soaking her hair; this was so much better than the archaic old bathroom at Grimmauld Place. 

Sitting back in the bath, bubbles and steam around her shoulders, her wet hair now flattened to her head and hanging down her back, the ends floating on the surface of the water, she watched as Snape stepped down into the water. He did as she had done and dunked his whole body under, including his head, pushing his wet hair back as he surfaced. She’d never seen so much of his face, he always kept it partly hidden behind a lank curtain of hair. Here in the water, there was nowhere to hide, and she regarded him with interest. 

His aquiline features were enhanced by the water, his black hair and eyebrows so stark against his pale, white face, and his ears stuck out ever-so slightly, which she found rather attractive. He rinsed his face, and returned her gaze. For a while, neither spoke. 

“We can make love, but a shared bath has appeared to render us awkward and at a loss for conversation,” he observed, smirking wryly. 

Hermione propelled herself through the water towards him. This would not be awkward, she was determined, and was gratified as he scooped her up in his arms and held her close to his chest, simply resting his cheek on the top of her head. The gesture was nothing to do with the compulsion, it was not sexual, just wonderfully comforting. The steam from the water rose around them, as if enveloping them in a warm, misty shroud. He began to stroke the slippery skin on her back, scooping warm water over her shoulders so she did not get cold. 

“This is nice,” she murmured.

“I was under the impression, Miss Granger, that you did not do nice?” he teased, reminding of her words about kissing Charlie. 

“In this instance I think that nice is acceptable.”

She raised her hand to his chest, rubbing the soapy water into the sparse black hair as she continued to lean against him, before being struck with an idea. 

“Would you allow me to wash your hair?” 

“If it would please you to do so, then by all means, go ahead.”

Snape summoned a bottle of shampoo that he must brewed himself, for the bottle was unmarked, and smelled amazing when she opened it. Hermione twisted herself so that she was kneeling on the floor of the bath between his legs, facing him. She indicated that she should dip his head fully into the water again to saturate his hair, and then, pouring a generous blob of the creamy shampoo into her palm, she began to massage it into his scalp, taking her time and paying particular attention to those places that she suspected he probably neglected; those areas where grease would build up – along the hairline on his forehead, behind his ears, and at the nape of his neck. 

Focused on her task, she was surprised to suddenly hear his frustrated moan. 

“Fucking hell, Granger, how can I be expected to sit like a good man and have my hair washed when your naked tits are jiggling in my face, just begging me to suck upon them?”

“If it would please you to do so, then by all means, go ahead,” she teased, mocking him. 

He took her at her word, and she immediately felt his seeking mouth upon her breast, suckling it deep into his mouth and flickering his tongue across the nipple. She attempted to carry on her work with his hair, but it was difficult, especially when he began fondling the other one with his hand, rolling her nipple between his fingers. His other hand took hold of one of her bum cheeks. 

Holding her hands still on his head, she enjoyed the sensations, all feelings heightened by the warm, delicious-smelling water around them. Oddest of all was the fact she was washing Professor Snape’s hair, naked in his private bathroom, in a position of great intimacy with a wizard she had always found terrifying, and it was wasn’t odd at all. It felt … right. It felt real. 

“Beautiful girl,” he mumbled, swapping his mouth to the other breast and applying equal attention. 

“Rinse,” she instructed, pushing him lightly back, and enjoying the look of mock-disappointment upon his face. 

Doing as he was bidden, Snape dipped his head under the water, and she reached forwards to ensure that all the shampoo was rinsed from his scalp before setting a tap to run clear and indicating that he should have one final rinse under there. He had just reached for the bottle of shampoo to return the favour when the call of the Floo sounded, he obviously had it set up so that he could hear his fire calls throughout his private quarters. 

Looking grave, he handed her the bottle, and rose from the bath, summoning the dark green bathrobe that she had once used and wrapping himself in it. As an afterthought, he duplicated it using a neat little charm, and hung the second robe on the door hook, indicating that this was for her use. 

“Stay here, finish your bath. I shall go and find out who my caller is. Do not enter my office, no matter what you may hear.”

He walked out of the bathroom door and into his bedchamber, sending a rough drying charm through his hair to prevent it dripping. It looked cleaner already. Hermione heard him go through the second door, the one that led to his office. She luxuriated in the bath for a while longer, for it was so big she could actually scull around a little on the surface of the water. Then it was time to attack her hair, and she washed it thoroughly, using both shampoo and conditioner, lest her curls turn into the frizzy mass that they were prone to if not washed and conditioned properly. 

Pulling the plug on the bath and stepping out, she took the conjured bath robe and wrapped it around her, tying the waist sash double and wrapping her hair in a towel. Padding through the bedroom, she located her wand and turned both Gryffindor red from their Slytherin green, just for amusement’s sake. 

Then she headed to the door that led to the office and pressed her ear to it, her innate need to know everything no match for politeness. She could clearly hear the distinctive voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt, and from the proximity it seemed like he had come through into the office. Dare she join them? 

Of course she dared, she was a bloody Gryffindor. If Professor Snape was happy to receive visitors in his bathrobe, then she was too. And she wasn’t ashamed to have spent the night with him, either. She was about to push open the door when she remembered his honest words from the night before. 

If you decided you could not honour your promises … my heart, Hermione, I would not survive it.

He was quite right. Now was not the time to be declaring lifetime intentions, and she had no right to declare their relationship before Kingsley, without his consent, when their status wasn’t even clear to themselves. Champing down on her urge to find out what the conversation was about, she tiptoed lightly to the bed and lay down, wrapping the top quilt around her legs, closing her eyes, and waited. 

She hated waiting. 

-xxx-

Hermione must have dozed off, as she opened her eyes with a start as the mattress dipped beside her, and Professor Snape sat down on the bed, one eyebrow arched in disapproval. 

“My bathrobe appears to have been vomited on by the house of Gryffindor,” he grumbled.

She couldn’t help smiling at him. 

“You don’t like it? I thought it was a vast improvement.”

“Merlin save me from bloody lions.”

“I think you like us, secretly.”

“You may be correct. I have time for some of you, anyway,” Snape agreed, nodding thoughtfully. “Now, I have slightly more pressing news, I presume you heard that Shacklebolt was my visitor?”

Hermione nodded.

“Let me firstly congratulate you on your restraint in not joining us, I am not sure what my explanation would have been for having you in my chambers, undressed, at this hour of the morning.”

“It was difficult,” she admitted, and he shot her an amused glare. 

“This is what has been discussed thus far. The most positive news is that Shacklebolt has been successful in securing the post of department head for Magical Law Enforcement since Yaxley’s … enforced retirement. This is a tremendous coup for the Order, having a member in such a high-ranking position, and he now has to work hard to enable the Ministry to destroy itself, from the inside out.”

“But, how can Kingsley do that?”

“There are many workers within the Ministry who are still loyal to the Light, however deeply they must hide it. There are far more who desire peace and tolerance, than those who uphold the Dark Lord’s ideals. Unfortunately, whilst Death Eaters, pureblood supremacists and followers of the Dark are lower in number, they are loud, and they are mighty. They feed on the fears of others, and are too keen to resort to methods of war – to intimidate, to oppress and to assume command. 

Shacklebolt’s job is to identify and recruit … the others. Those normal witches and wizards who desire only a peaceful world in which to raise their families, a tolerant society; where magical beings of all bloods are equal, and where due respect is shown to Muggles and to the International Statute of Secrecy, and the abuse of the non-magical is abhorrent. If they are there, and we are certain they are, he will find them. 

Once the numbers are great enough, and their bravery procured, a coup can be staged from the inside, married up with anything else we have planned, not least, the taking and complete destruction of the broken Horcruxes kept at Gringotts, and an assassination of the Dark Lord himself, for at present, he is fully mortal.”

“Wow.”

“Indeed. However, this is not the only news that Shacklebolt came to impart, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

“The Auror Office has been forced to work alongside the Snatchers in rounding up all the werewolves, under the culling legislation put in force by Umbridge. Now, when it comes to heinous creatures such as Fenrir Greyback, I should say that the law has worked very well indeed. However, we both know that there are a great many lycanthropes who were afflicted through no fault of their own, and simply seek to live a peaceful life, managing their devastating condition the best they can.”

“And?” Hermione asked, impatiently, desperate for Snape to get to the point, as she was beginning to feel a cold dread in the very pit of her stomach. 

“Shacklebolt’s first task as department Head, was to invade the home of Andromeda Tonks, in order to search for the Lupin baby, who is proven to have half-lycanthropic blood.”

“No!”

Her hands flew to her mouth in shock. What could they want with Teddy? He was just a baby, no threat to anyone. 

“It was a poorly-veiled attempt to discover the whereabouts of the child’s father. It is believed that Madam Tonks is concealing Remus Lupin, as well as caring for the infant of her deceased daughter. The purpose of the raid was to search the house from top to bottom, looking for any sign of Lupin, who was first on the list of werewolves to cull, and yet despite many being captured, he still eludes them. Obviously, we know why that is, but the Ministry do not.”

“So, what happened? Did Kingsley manage to halt the raid?”

Snape shook his head, and her eyes widened in alarm. 

“I have no doubt that this was a test of Shacklebolt’s loyalties by Dolores Umbridge. As loathsome as she may be, she is not a stupid woman. Any reticence on his part to follow her orders would cast doubt on not only his ability to run the department, but also on his political loyalties. He had no choice but to go ahead with the raid. Of course, they found no trace of Lupin or his son, and Shacklebolt managed to prevent the torture of Madam Tonks to disclose their whereabouts by administering her with Veritaserum, so she could prove, under its influence, that she did not know where her son-in-law and grandson were hiding.”

“That’s something, at least. Did anything else happen, though?”

His already serious face took on a grim expression. 

“Shacklebolt could not prevent it.”

“What?”

“Madam Tonks has been taken into Ministry custody. No, not Azkaban, but the holding cells below the Auror department. The Death Eaters among the Aurors are not convinced she knows nothing, they believe Lupin may be returning to her regularly for food and shelter, and therefore her removal was justified. They … they also burned her house to the ground, to destroy any magically-concealed hiding places that may have been inside that they did not discover. Their reasoning was that if Lupin was concealed inside, he would have been killed by the fire.”

Tears sprang to her ears. Oh, Remus. Oh, poor Andromeda. 

“Does Andromeda know that her house was destroyed?”

“That I do not know. But … Lupin must be told of this, and quickly, before he hears it from other sources, such as the vile and salacious Daily Prophet.”

“I know,” she nodded, sadly. “I’ll do it. I’ll go and do it now, he will be up and feeding Teddy by this time.”

“Good girl,” he said, quietly, reaching for her hand, and she took the offered comfort, his large hand warm around hers. “I am confident that you will find the right words, Granger. Your clothes are on that chair, over there, I am afraid they are mixed with mine, for I cast a rather hasty banishing spell when Shacklebolt came through the fireplace.”

Hermione gave him a small smile, and he lifted his other hand to cup her face, before threading his fingers in her half-dry hair and stroking the back of her head. Slowly, very slowly, he leaned forwards, and touched his lips to hers in the ghost of a kiss that said more than any words could. It was tentative and beautiful.

“I will go now,” she whispered, their lips still close. 

He nodded, but said nothing more, releasing her with what seemed like great reluctance. 

-xxx-

Orla remained in the kitchen with Remus after Hermione had left the room. Hermione had returned through the Floo as they’d been having breakfast, which was confusing since Orla had presumed that she’d been upstairs in her room, asleep. Remus did not seem surprised by Hermione’s arrival, however, in the early morning and definitely wearing the same floral dress she’d had on yesterday. Where had she been, Shell Cottage? That was the only other Secret-Kept place that Orla knew of where it would be safe for Hermione to go. 

It had not seemed the moment to ask, though, since Hermione urgently bade them both to be seated as she imparted the news about Andromeda Tonks, the raid on her home and the reasons for it, that Madam Tonks was now in Ministry custody and her house set alight, burned to the ground in an attempt to discover Remus or his son. 

The wizard with whom they shared the house sat ashen-faced, disbelieving of the news, not moving even when Hermione closed the heavy door behind her and they heard her ascending the stairs. 

Orla relieved him of Teddy, since he looked shocked enough to drop the baby, and he allowed her to take the infant, and also the bottle from his fingers that he’d been feeding him with. Teddy had fallen asleep on the bottle, so she placed him gently in the kitchen cradle and covered him with a light blanket, placing the half-drunk bottle on the table top and stepping cautiously towards Lupin. 

She put a hand on his shoulder, and he did not shrug her off. That was a start. There were no words she could say to comfort him, so she did not even try. All she could offer was her proximity, her reassurance that he and Teddy were not alone. Orla felt his shoulder begin to shake under her hand. How long had it been since this man had cried? How long had he been strong, uncomplaining? How long without comfort?

He was grieving the greatest loss a wizard could suffer, that of his wife and the mother of his child, struggling to raise a tiny baby alone whilst living under the constant threat of a discovery that meant a death sentence for both himself and the child. 

Orla slid her arm across his back, meaning to embrace his shoulders, but instead he pulled her roughly off her feet and into his lap, burying his head in her chest, weeping openly. Taken aback by the speed of his movement, she slipped both her arms around him and held him tightly, for he was clearly desperate for touch. It broke her heart into a thousand pieces. She rested her cheek on the top of his head, determined that whatever physical comfort she could offer, she would provide. 

Remus cried for a long time, and Orla continued to hold him. 

As his body began to still and his breaths became more regular, she summoned a handkerchief and slipped it into his hand, rubbing slow circles of reassurance on his back. 

“I am so sorry, Orla,” he said, at last, looking up at her and finally meeting her eyes. “Andromeda … she did not deserve this. And there is nothing I can do, absolutely nothing.”

His face was red and puffy, his eyes bloodshot from the force of his tears. He looked utterly bereft.

“You have not one thing to be sorry for. We live together, and I am here for you, whenever you need me.”

Remus shook his head in feeble protest, blowing his nose hard on the handkerchief and scrubbing at his eyes and cheeks with it, wiping a hand through his short sandy moustache and beard. 

“I don’t know what to say,” he began. “You provide me with a comfort that I am intensely grateful for. You take exceptional care of Teddy, and I trust you implicitly with him. You are worth your weight in gold, Orla Roach.”

“Orla Malfoy, remember?” she said, regretfully. 

“You’ll always be Roach the Hufflepuff to me,” he replied, quietly, with a sad attempt at a smile. 

“Say now, I thought you didn’t remember me from school?” 

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to, Professor Lupin. We all know the third-year Gryffindors were more important than the Puffs.”

He looked sheepish, but yet she had managed to coax a smile from him, and it seemed that he suddenly realised she was sitting sideways on his lap, and he gently edged her to her feet with yet more apologies for his behaviour. 

“Oh, stop. It’s fine. Just keep your lap available for when I need a hug, ok?”

“Consider it yours.”

“That’s good to know. I might need it later, you’ve remembered I’m seeing my … father again this afternoon? That’s enough to piss anyone off.”

“I did remember. Is Charlie going with you again?”

“Not this time. I need to do this alone, and I think he might have caused more problems than he solved, last time. He’s quite … combative.”

“I’m surprised Charlie didn’t cut Lucius Malfoy down where he stood, after what happened to his entire family.”

Orla blushed, embarrassed at her lack of consideration.

“I didn’t … I didn’t mean …”

He held up his hands. 

“It’s fine, I know that. I think you are probably right to go alone. Malfoy will ensure no harm comes to you, he will protect his own.”

“He didn’t protect Draco too well, did he?”

Now it was Lupin’s turn to look embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Let’s stop apologising to one another,” she concluded. “We’re on the same side.”

“I’ll drink to that,” he replied, toasting her with Teddy’s half-drunk bottle of milk. 

“Magical baby formula? That’s all you,” she grimaced, turning up her nose at the thought of drinking the incredibly sweet powdered milk mix. “Now, I’m going to get showered and dressed. You’re ok?”

“As I’ll ever be. You go.”

She left the room, leaving what looked like a defeated man wearing a tattered old red dressing gown and brown pyjamas sitting staring at the surface of the kitchen table. Her heart broke for him, again. 

-xxx-

Severus was at his desk in the headmasters’ office, working on actual school administration that had to be completed at the end of each school year, whether the wizarding world was in the grip of war, or not. He had only just reached the end of the first-years, collating their individual lesson reports, signing his approval on each one and deputising a number of elves to the Owlery to deliver the thick scrolls to each child’s parents. And he still had the second through seventh years to go. 

A short break from the academic tedium would have proved welcome, but the sharp burn of his left forearm that indicated a summons from Voldemort was certainly not the distraction he’d been hoping for. 

Fuck. 

Pulling his hated Death Eater robes around his shoulders, Snape touched the end of his wand to the Dark Mark, landing not unsurprisingly in the drawing room of the Riddle House. 

He was the only one there. This did not bode well. 

“Severusss.”

“My Lord,” he greeted, dropping to one knee and kissing the hem of the Dark Lord’s robes. 

“Rise, Severus, for I have a question.”

“Yes, My Lord?”

“The Mudblood Granger. She lives.”

“I do not know, My Lord.”

“That was not my question, Severus. I know that she lives, for the Ministry archives of births and deaths magically record everything, as you know. My question is, how does she live? Under the compulsion curse, she should have been driven to madness by now, and either died or taken her own life. How can it be that the Mudblood slut is still alive?”

“I do not know, My Lord. She is magically powerful, and her residence is Secret-Kept. She must have concealed herself there, and I cannot fathom how she has borne the curse,” he lied. 

Voldemort stepped towards him, his bare, scaly feet scraping on the rough carpet with a scratchy noise that put Snape’s teeth on edge. 

“You have not been relieving her?”

“I have not, My Lord,” he replied, Occluding hard as he felt the Dark Lord invade his mind, searching for the lie. 

Voldemort would find nothing. Severus knew that his skill at Occlumency was unsurpassed, it was what had kept him alive all these years. He’d have been dead years ago, had the Dark Lord even found the slightest hint of his true allegiance with Dumbledore. 

“You speak the truth, Severus,” he pronounced, at length, pulling out of his mind with a disgusting slither. 

“Thank you, My Lord.”

“I must find the girl. I want to know how she has been able to divert my curse. There is no way she could suffer this long and still be alive. You saw yourself, right here in my cellar, how … quickly the curse turns nasty, should it not be satisfied.”

I certainly did, you psychopathic bastard, he thought, but merely nodded once in agreement. 

“Hmmm. Severus, I require you to go to Gringotts for me. Here are the details of my vault, and my magical authorisation to enter it. You are to allow no one inside, not even the goblin who takes you there – he must wait outside the door. Inside my vault you will find a number of objects. All have curses placed upon them, only one of which I will now release. You will find a book, in actuality an old diary that bears my childhood name embossed on the cover. Bring this diary to me, for I require you to assist me in a complicated piece of magic. Go now.”

He waved his hand airily at Severus, in dismissal. 

So, he was to go and collect the broken shell of the first Horcrux, and return here to assist the Dark Lord in reanimating it, he presumed. 

It seemed like the game had begun. 

Voldemort would not win, this time. Severus would ensure that the Dark Lord lost, else he would die trying.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Reanimate the memory?”
> 
> Voldemort’s red, suspicious eyes flicked up and stared at him. 
> 
> “Yes, Severusss. The memory.”

Severus walked briskly down Diagon Alley, not wishing to catch the eye of those who hated him, nor any Death Eaters or supporters of the Dark Lord or Umbridge. He could feel the weight of their glares, and their reproach was boring into his back. They could be anyone. Parents of his students, fellow ‘comrades’, shopkeepers just trying to earn their living, or the families of victims of this war, of whom there were many. All of them, he had no doubt, held him in the same low esteem. 

Snivellous, it seemed, was as unpopular as he had ever been. 

He pretended to look vaguely at the wares in the various shop windows as he passed, trying not to appear too interested by a lascivious display of witches’ underwear in Twilfitt and Tatting’s. He couldn’t help focusing on a black brassiere with matching knickers, but mainly due to the Gryffindor-red satin and ribbon detailing upon it. He’d like to buy that for his own little lion and take it off her luscious body with his teeth. 

Sleazy bastard, he reprimanded himself. She is not yours, and one does not buy sexy lingerie for their students. 

Snape kept his eye on the huge stone edifice that heralded the imposing Gringotts building, situated at the end of Diagon Alley. That was his destination, sent there on a fool’s errand from the Dark Lord himself. His only thought was to empty that vault, but without revealing himself, nor to implicate any innocent goblins. 

Entering the high-ceilinged reception hall of Gringotts, he was called forward immediately by his name, by a persistent goblin on the first desk, crooking his long finger. Sighing, he walked forward, and was surprised as he lifted his gaze to address the goblin, who would no doubt be surly and rude, like all his kind. However, he was in for a shock, instead. 

“Make no obvious sign that you know me,” hissed Filius Flitwick, almost unrecognisable out of his teaching robes and wearing the standard Gringotts attire.

His usual clean-shaven look had been replaced by a long goblin’s beard, that he must have charmed to grow exponentially fast. What a humiliation for his learned, professional colleague. Still, at least Flitwick was alive, and somewhat at liberty. Severus kept his eyes and expression deliberately neutral, a skill borne of years of necessity, although any goblin with half a brain would realise that the two former Hogwarts colleagues would know one another. 

“Filius, my friend. How are you?” he asked, quietly. 

“Well enough, Severus, well enough. What brings you here?”

“I have been instructed to enter the Dark Lord’s vault and retrieve an item. I have his magical permission here,” Snape replied, passing over the enchanted scroll he had been given, and Filius gave the document a cursory look. 

“That object itself will allow you to enter the vault, it is a form of enchanted key. Come, I have reached a high-enough ranking to be authorised to take you there myself.”

“You have not been idle, then?”

“Far from it. Whatever use I can be in here, I shall.”

“You are a brave man. Lead the way.”

Filius climbed the steps down from the tall stool behind the counter and indicated that Severus should follow him, towards the large door at the end of the entrance hall that led to the vaults. It opened at the touch of Flitwick’s palm, and they were soon travelling in one of the bank’s wheeled carts that trundled through the cavernous maze of vaults on rickety tracks. They did not speak, knowing that any noise they made in the underground vaults would echo to, and be overhead by, any other goblin or visitor who may be currently below ground. 

At length, they reached the unmarked vault, and the door was huge, far larger than Severus had ever seen on any other, and had no neighbouring doors. They stepped from the cart, and he looked at Filius expectantly. 

“My hand will do no good on this vault. Present the scroll to the door. Voldemort will have imbued it with magic that will open the door.”

Severus did as he was bidden, and the heavy door swung open to reveal the huge, almost empty, vault. 

“Can you not come in?” he whispered. “I understood from Madam Weasley that you had been able to charm the entrance and discover the contents.”

“I have been able to gain entrance, yes. However, as the vault has been opened with an enchanted key, via the scroll, it will admit only the person that it intended, which is yourself.”

“I see. Filius, please hold the door wide open. I do not trust the Dark Lord not to have set a trap to seal me inside.”

Flitwick smiled, although it was not a pleasant one, and stood in front of the vault door with his entire body keeping it open, his wand drawn in his right hand. 

“He thinks of everything, does he?” Filius asked, ruefully.

Severus stepped into the vault, feeling a cold dread snake its arm around his shoulders, as any mission from that soulless bastard did. He needed to be in and out of here as quickly as possible. 

“Not … everything,” he replied, cryptically, as he surveyed the vault. 

The vault was entirely empty, as Fleur had told them, apart from a table upon which sat the destroyed receptacles that had contained the Horcruxes. There was the diary, which Riddle had instructed him to collect, alongside the ring, a locket that bore Slytherin’s mark, and the ornamental cup that bore Hufflepuff’s. 

Granger had told him that Ravenclaw’s diadem, also used to house a Horcrux, had been completely destroyed by the Fiendfyre cast by Crabbe in the Room of Requirement, an act that had ultimately cost the stupid boy his life – through his uncontrolled use of the magical, all-consuming fire. But, it had been a fire strong enough to destroy a Horcrux. 

He thought fast. Voldemort had sent him to collect the diary, he presumed because he wished to enlist his assistance in an attempt to reanimate the piece of soul that had been inside. If they succeeded, surely it would be him he would send to collect another? 

Severus gathered up the other three items and pushed them deep inside the pockets of his cloak. Filius did not know what he had been asked to collect, therefore he could not be implicated. The instructions had been that no goblin should not enter the vault – his former colleague would be safe from retribution. 

It would be another story for Severus, however, should his theft be discovered. He was taking a huge gamble. But, it would be courage that won this war, and he was no coward. How many times would he be forced to prove it? 

Severus left the vault entirely empty, nodding to Filius that he was satisfied and walked back through the door, which he closed behind him and heard it seal both mechanically and magically. 

“You have done all you need to do?” Flitwick asked. 

“I believe so,” he replied, as they climbed back in to the cart. “Madam Weasley will keep you updated, Filius. I hope it will not be long.”

“Thank you, Severus. I wish you well.”

They nodded at one another in silent understanding before Filius set the cart to move, which would return them to the main floor of the bank; just a wizard and the Gringotts goblin doing his bidding. Certainly no one that had just looted the vault of the Dark Lord himself. 

-xxx-

Before returning to the Riddle House, Severus Apparated into his office and concealed the stolen Horcruxes behind the Pensieve, casting a strong ward around the cabinet. He would return for those, later. 

Not wanting to keep a psychopath waiting, Snape then headed straight back to Voldemort with the diary he’d requested, and he received it with eager hands. 

“Well done, Severus. I am about to attempt some extraordinary magic with this book, and I shall need your assistance.”

“I should be honoured, My Lord. But what of Lestrange? Is he not your second-in-command, should he not be the one to assist you?”

Voldemort’s face curled in disgust. 

“A wizard who was besmirched and cuckolded by his wife shall never have the position she held with such skill and dignity!” he cried, angrily. 

Severus privately thought that dignified was not a word that could ever be applied with any truth to Bellatrix Lestrange. 

“Rodolphus only believes himself to be second to me,” Voldemort continued. “And that is his greatest use, for it keeps the other rabid dogs at bay. Lestrange played a cunning game in sniffing out the Malfoy boy, and for that he was rewarded, just with a … different reward than he expected. His mediocre skills are not required for the magic we need to perform. For that, I need you. 

Now, Severus. I wish to … take you into my confidence. This simple book has far more power than its tattered appearance would suggest. Many years ago, I imbued in it a memory, a living memory of myself that can communicate with the current time, as I was then. As you can see, it was destroyed, and I believe that I have finally created the magic that will reanimate it.”

“Reanimate the memory?”

Voldemort’s red, suspicious eyes flicked up and stared at him. 

“Yes, Severusss. The memory.”

Lying bastard, Severus thought, knowing that this was Voldemort’s cover story to avoid telling anyone about the Horcruxes, not realising that many people already knew. 

“I am not sure I fully understand, My Lord, but I shall attempt to assist you in any small way I can.”

“Did you see other objects of mine, when you entered my vault?”

“I did, My Lord. However, all were broken, or damaged. Did you expect them to be so?”

“Very good. And yes, I did. Should our experiment here be successful, I may find those items … of use, in the future. Now, I see no reason not to start immediately. I shall need some of your blood, just a little, to mix with mine and drop onto the pages of the diary.”

Voldemort pulled two tiny silver daggers from the inside of his robes with a flourish, incanted over them, and handed one to Severus. Then he rolled up his own sleeve, exposing a skinny, white arm, hairless and scaly, indicating that Severus should do the same. 

“Shall we?”

Both wizards drew the daggers over their skin. 

-xxx-

Orla was walking the corridors of Malfoy Manor with Lucius, who had insisted on taking her arm, intent on showing her all the riches that were rightfully hers. The décor was opulent and traditional, and reeked of centuries of wealth. To the outside observer, it must look as if he were doing all the right things, but Orla simply did not trust him. This was the wizard who had albeit condemned his own son to a dreadful fate, as a consequence of his own crimes and failings. Did she want to be the daughter of such a man? 

She had Apparated from the Grimmauld Place garden that afternoon, Remus with Teddy astride his hip, enjoying the afternoon sunshine of his own volition, for once. They’d brought sandwiches out to the lawn for lunch, the morning’s awkwardness seemed forgotten, and he had sent her off with entreaties to take good care. His face had been etched with concern, though, after all, she was off to Malfoy Manor, never a good place to be, and certainly not a place she wanted to live. She had brought the book of Draco's tattoo designs with her, thinking that Lucius and Narcissa would appreciate the gift of a memory of their son's artistic talent. Lucius had thanked her, and placed the book to one side, promising to show his wife. 

“Um … Father?” she asked, in a stilted manner, testing out the name for the first time, since he had been quite cross when she’d addressed him as Mr Malfoy when she’d arrived. 

He gave her a beatific smile. 

“See now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

“I suppose not. It is just going to take a lot of getting used to.”

“You have Malfoy blood running through your veins at a time when blood purity is everything, Orla. I should have thought you would be ecstatic at your good fortune.”

He seemed pissed off that she wasn’t leaping around in delirious excitement at finding out the circumstances of her conception, having no inkling or understanding of the distress this might be causing her. Finding out that the man she believed her whole life to be her father, in fact was not genetically related to her at all. Discovering her mother had conceived her during a brief affair and never told the father. And worst of all, enjoying the beginnings of a beautiful new relationship and then finding out her boyfriend was her half-brother. 

None of these seemed to matter one jot to Lucius Malfoy, however, who was intent on bringing home and parading his long-lost daughter. Illegitimacy didn’t seem to matter if your blood was of the right purity. 

They reached a large door at the end of the hall, and he pushed it open with an encouraging smile, ushering her inside. 

“Your room.”

Orla stepped into the room, although in truth it was more like a set of chambers than a single bedroom, since she could see a door into an ensuite bathroom on one side, and another that led to a large dressing area, filled with wardrobes.

“Wow.”

Really, she couldn’t help herself. The room was incredible. It seemed freshly decorated, and all the linens and furnishings smelt of newness.

“Indeed”, he replied, and gave her what she thought was a smile of relief, at her approval. “I am glad you like it. I have had this decorated for you just this week, and the armoires are filled with robes from Madam Malkins, Twilfitt and Tatting’s, and some of my wife’s favourite Parisian tailors for you to try on at your leisure.”

This was it. This was what he thought would win her over.

She was saved from answering by the clatter of footsteps in the hallway that sounded as if they were running as they approached. 

“No, Lucius! Over my dead body! You will not do this!”

It was Narcissa Malfoy, a woman that Orla had only seen in the flesh once, the night that Draco had been killed. Lucius swung around to face his wife. 

“And why not? This is my daughter, and this is where she belongs! What do you suggest, that I put her up in a guest room like a temporary visitor?”

“Of course not!” Madam Malfoy shouted back, “but not here! Not in this room! How could you?”

Orla’s eyes batted between the two of them, and it was making her head ache. 

“I have had it completely redecorated, Narcissa! It is no longer Draco’s room. I have had all his personal items carefully boxed for you, I have disposed of nothing. But Orla is my daughter, your step-daughter, and she must be received as such!”  
Oh, holy shite. Lucius had offered her Draco’s bedroom? Their dead son’s room? Her murdered brother-slash-boyfriend’s room? She wanted to vomit right where she stood. 

“Madam Malfoy,” she began, “I had no idea this was Draco’s room …”

“You will call her Mother!” Lucius shouted, and both witches looked horrified. 

“She is no daughter of mine,” Narcissa retorted, eyeing Orla with hatred. 

“Good, because I wouldn’t want to be!”

“Stop! You will both stop!” roared her father, pressing his fingertips to his temples as if he was about to have some kind of panic attack. 

Draco had told her that Lucius had been addicted to magical opiates since he’d left Azkaban. Orla wondered uncharitably if he needed his next fix. 

“I may have to accept you into this house, girl, but you will not have this room. This is all I have left of my son. Lucius, you will return everything to how it was.”

Narcissa now spoke more quietly, but it was with just as much venom. 

“I lost him too, you know,” Orla retorted, immediately wishing she’d kept her mouth shout as the older blonde woman rounded on her. 

“You lost him too?” she mimicked, cruelly. “He was my son. I raised him for nineteen years!”

“Nineteen years that saw him marked as Death Eater for the sins of his parents, and then murdered by Voldemort when he tried to escape. Perhaps you didn’t do so great a job, considering he didn’t even make it out of his teens.”

Orla recoiled as Narcissa Malfoy slapped her squarely round the face so hard, that her ear began ringing painfully. 

“How dare you?”

“How dare I?” she asked, holding her hand to her smarting face and desperately trying not to cry. “I dare because for the few weeks we spent together, I knew Draco better than you two ever did the whole rest of his life!”

His mother’s face looked crestfallen, before being quickly replaced by angry disgust. 

“You really were sleeping together, weren’t you, you filthy Mudblood slut? I had hoped that was a ruse before the Dark Lord.”

“Orla is not a Mudblood, Narcissa!” her husband piped up, a little pathetically, since his wife had firmly taken the reins of this conversation. 

“She was no more than a Mudblood at the time, Lucius, and Draco knowingly slept with … that. And his sister! I can only hope to god you aren’t pregnant, you damn girl.”

“Of course I’m not! We cast charms!”

“Perhaps I ought to check, just to make sure!” Narcissa screamed, her voice rising again as she drew her wand from the sheath at her waist and cast towards Orla.

“Praegnatio revelare!”

Orla knew the spell. It was often mentioned as a joke in the Hufflepuff common room when someone got a new boyfriend, or was caught snogging in an alcove, that they’d need to cast a pregnancy revealing charm if they got any closer, that kind of thing. She’d only ever seen it cast once, during her sixth year on Alessia Barrett, and since Lessi hadn’t been pregnant, the spell had fizzed around her abdomen, and then the shower of sparks had fallen uselessly to the floor. 

That didn’t happen, this time. 

Narcissa Malfoy’s spell hit her stomach with a painless fizz, and a shower of sparks danced in front of it, forming a pulsing pink ball that danced in front of her for a few seconds, and then dissipated. They all stared, gaping. 

“Merlin, save us,” Narcissa spat, the first to find her voice. “This child will have webbed fingers and crossed eyes. I will not have this filth in my house, this is a crime against nature!”

“This is my grandchild, Narcissa,” Lucius said, very softly. “And yours. This is the only piece of Draco that you will ever be able to keep. Orla and the baby will stay here, in this room.”

She needed to get out. Fucking hell, she needed to get out now and never return here. She couldn’t even think about a damn pregnancy, Orla could only think about getting out of this godforsaken house alive. She skirted around Lucius and out through the open bedroom door, running full pelt down the hallway towards the wide, majestic staircase that swept into the grand entrance hall. 

There were anti-Apparition wards all over the Manor, her father had explained this as he’d shown her around, earlier. When they wished to arrive or depart, the family would use the purpose-built Apparition foyer that was positioned near to the front door. He’d opened the foyer to proudly show her their fine tiling. That was where she was headed, knowing there was no way the older witch and wizard could catch her, unless they used their wands. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, she hurtled downwards as Lucius Malfoy’s voice began to shout for her to come back, with his wife’s screaming at her to go, to get out of this house. 

I’m going, you mad bitch, Orla thought, as she threw herself into the foyer and Disapparated, making a messy landing into the Grimmauld Place garden where she scared the shit out of Remus and Hermione who were on the grass in the sun, and made Teddy cry. 

-xxx-

Remus could not get up to help Orla, since he was sitting on the small patch of lawn, cradling his shrieking son, who had been startled by her noisy Apparition. Hermione did though, and threw her arms around the trembling girl. 

“Orla!” she gasped, holding her tightly and stroking her back. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

For a few moments, the Irish girl could not speak. 

“Not hurt,” she replied, after a while, and Hermione guided her to sit down on the lawn with them, for the afternoon sunshine was still fine and pleasant. 

Remus watched her intently as Teddy began to calm, now just whimpering, and he urgently needed to hear what the girl had to say. 

“Malfoy was showing me round the Manor, trying to act the dutiful father, you know? He’d made an amazing suite of rooms for me. Turns out they were fucking Draco’s rooms, and his mother couldn’t have been more pissed off about it. Long story short, she abuses me and ends up throwing a pregnancy revealing charm in my direction.”

“What? But why?”

“I’m not really too bothered about why, Hermione, because the charm was positive.”

Lupin felt his jaw drop in shock, and Hermione’s eyes opened wide. 

“I need to be alone,” she said, suddenly, getting up from the grass. “Please, just leave me for a while.”

Remus cradled his now-quiet son, stroking his soft blue hair absently and looking to the younger witch for answers. She had none, only questions. 

“What can we say to her?” Hermione asked, looking as lost as he felt. 

“I have no idea,” he replied. 

-xxx-

Severus returned to Hogwarts that night bleeding and in rather a lot of pain, but alive, and strangely happy. Voldemort’s attempt at reanimating the sliver of his soul contained within the diary had been unsuccessful at every attempt. The magic he had devised was derived from the same dark spell that was used to create Inferi, to reanimate a corpse to do a wizard’s bidding. 

However, a book was an inanimate object, and therefore had not responded to the spell, or the blood magic that had cost Severus at least a pint of his precious crimson lifeblood. Voldemort had argued that since the diary had once been sentient, as a corpse would have, that the spell should work. 

There were so many holes in the desperate plan that had Severus not hated the wizard with a grand, all-consuming passion, he might have felt sorry for him. However, he was delighted, ecstatic, that at least on this occasion, Voldemort had failed to recover a piece of his soul, and fervently hoped it would stay that way. 

Not for the first time, he wished he’d just cast an Avada in the drawing room of the Riddle House, but for the same reasons as when he’d been writhing in sexual agony in the cellar, it was imperative that the Dark Lord was killed before witnesses. 

As Voldemort had grown angrier and more frustrated, he’d taken out his temper on Severus, not with anything as severe as a Crucio, he preferred an audience for that, but with a number of vicious, petulant little hexes that were now causing his oft-punished body to ache in various places. 

Severus walked through to his bathroom, stripping off his clothes as he went, using his wand to seal the open cuts on his arms and setting the shower to run before stepping in, and letting the water cascade hot and heavy on his complaining muscles. 

What he wouldn’t do to have Granger in here now, to feel her gentle arms upon him, to kiss her lips, to touch her soft body. But yet he could not go to her, for he was no longer under the control of the compulsion curse. He could only wait until the next time she was compelled, the next time she sought him out. He was not her lover. 

Sighing, he took his hardening prick in hand and began to masturbate, thankful at least he now had the ability to do so, again. He’d never been so constantly horny in all his life. 

-xxx-

It was late, very late at night when Orla heard a light tap upon her bedroom door. 

“Come in?”

The door was creaked open and Remus walked in. 

“May I?”

“Of course,” she replied, sitting up on the bed where she had been laying, still dressed, not sleeping. 

He came and sat on the edge of her bed, feet on the floor, and turned to face her. 

“How are you feeling, if it is not too trite a question?”

She shrugged. 

“Better than I did earlier, I suppose. Getting used to the idea. Even though Draco’s mother said it would be born with webbed fingers and crossed eyes.”

“Does that mean you intend to keep this child?”

“It does. This is my child, Remus. She belongs with me. There may be health problems, due to Draco and I being so closely related, but I have to give her a fighting chance, I just have to. She was conceived, if not in love, but from a true friendship. She is Draco’s only chance to leave his mark upon the earth.”

“She?”

“The spell that Narcissa Malfoy cast produced pink sparks.”

“Ah. Then yes, it is certainly a girl. Do you know how far along you are?”

“No. I don’t know that spell, it’s way beyond my skill level.”

“Would you allow me?” he asked, drawing his wand from the sleeve of his cardigan. “I used to cast them upon my wife, when she carried Teddy.”

“Sure.”

He made some small wand movements towards her abdomen, and muttered an incantation she had not heard before. The same ball of pink light was conjured from the end of his wand, and it seemed as if he was counting the seconds before it dissipated. 

“Three months, Orla. Maybe just under.”

“That far?” 

Her stomach began to lurch faster and with more force than the Hogwarts Express. The panic must have shown upon her face, because Remus edged towards her and grabbed hold of both her hands. 

“What is the matter? What has happened? Did the spell hurt you?”

“No, nothing hurts, I promise,” she replied, squeezing his hands. 

“Then what?”

She lifted her chin and looked the kind wizard straight in his honest brown eyes.

“If your spell is correct, Remus, then this is not Draco’s Malfoy’s child.”

“No?”

“No. It is Yaxley’s.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He felt her arms thread around his waist as he kissed her thoroughly, and desperately, like a drowning man thrown a life-raft. 
> 
> It felt good.

“Oh, my dear girl,” he replied, gently squeezing both her hands. “I am so sorry. You have been having a hell of time these last few months.”

“Don’t be sorry, Remus. We all have. Who is to say that your own suffering is not worse than my own?”

Lupin shrugged, for he supposed she was right, they were all suffering, in their own ways. 

“What will you do?” he asked, rubbing his thumbs on the backs of her hands. 

Orla sighed, heavily. 

“If I’m three months gone, then it’s too late to do anything about ending the pregnancy now. Not that I would have, you know, this child is as much mine as it is … his. There have been enough casualties of this war, I’m not going to add one more.”

“You will have the baby?”

“I’m terrified, but yes. Remus, will you help me?”

“Me? I’m just making things up as I go along, Orla. You’re just as adept at baby care as I, probably even more so, and Teddy isn’t even your son.”

“I meant the pregnancy. You’ve just been through it all with … with your wife, so you kind of know what I can expect.”

“Ah, I see. Well, yes, I suppose so, and I’ll do my very best to support and care for you during your pregnancy. Also, do not forget you have Fleur Weasley, who is a few months ahead of you, who will be a valuable source of advice?”

“That’s true. I’ll Floo her tomorrow. I hope that Hermione will let both me and the baby stay here.”

“I cannot imagine that Hermione would do anything but welcome you both with open arms. You will not be moving to Malfoy Manor then, I take it?”

Orla’s expression darkened, and she let go of his hands. 

“I will never return there in all my life. They terrify me. Narcissa Malfoy hates me, both for who I am and for what I represent – her husband’s infidelity. She will never accept me as a daughter, not that I would want her to, and Voldemort cannot make it so. He has no concept of love or family, thinking he can simply slot me in Draco’s place after his murder.”

Remus was privately pleased that she had decided not to return to her rightful family home, although he thought it unlikely that Lucius Malfoy would take it lying down. With the weight of the Ministry behind him, and as he was now aware that Orla was carrying his grandchild, he would probably be harder on her tail than ever, especially as they believed the child to be Draco’s. He chose not to trouble the girl further tonight, though. 

“Shall I leave you to sleep?”

Her face darted up to him, looking younger than ever. 

“Would you stay? Just for a little while? Is Teddy asleep?”

“Teddy is asleep in his crib, in my room, but Orla, I’m not sure you really want me to …”

“Please, Remus,” she asked, taking hold of his hand. “I’m not strong, tonight.”

He sighed, for if he was honest, the idea of a simple cuddle sounded wonderful to him too. 

“Lay down,” he replied, quietly. “Under the covers, so when you fall asleep I shall not disturb you by leaving.”

Orla slipped under the quilt, and he lay down next to her, on top of it. It was a small double bed, but enough room for them both. She lay on her back, and he lay on his side, facing her, tentatively sliding his arm across her middle, over the covers, and felt both her palms on his forearm. The blonde-haired witch looked up at the ceiling, as if watching the patterns made by the flickering candle on her bedside table. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

“You are welcome. Try to close your eyes, if you can. Sleep will come, and tomorrow is another day. You are not alone, and Orla, I promise you that you are still strong.”

Watching from the neighbouring pillow as she closed her eyes, he felt her grip on his arm release slightly as she tried to relax. He’d not been this close to her before, apart from the inadvertent hugging in the kitchen, the other day. Orla Malfoy was a beautiful girl, there was no doubt about that, tall and blonde, with a core of steel that belied her Hufflepuff sorting. The dreadful things that had happened to her, and she was still here, still fighting, and now for her daughter as well. 

Remus felt his own eyes begin to droop closed, and forced them back open. He could not allow himself to sleep next to her, for if Teddy woke in the night he would need to be close by. Also, it was inappropriate to do so, even if she’d been the one to ask him to stay. 

He hadn’t been in bed with a woman since his wife, and before her there had been nothing regular for many years, only mere dalliances with witches he met in various taverns. No one was interested in a long-term relationship with a werewolf. Tonks had been different. She’d known who and what he was, and didn’t care. They’d had sex a number of times before she’d finally managed to prise his head out of his arse and convince him she really wanted him. He’d treated her woefully, no wonder she had sunk into such a deep depression, at the time. He had fancied her, every unconventional inch of her, but it had taken her such a long time to convince him she truly wanted more. What a fucking waste of time it had been. If he’d only known how short a time they would have together …

There was no way he would ever be so stupid again. If another opportunity ever presented itself, he would grab it with both hands, not that it was likely to. More likely was that he would be hidden here forever, or dead before the year was out. At the unpleasant thought, he accidentally tightened his arm a little around Orla, and she must have felt it, for she shuffled slightly towards him and rested the side of her head on his nose. His lips were mere inches from her temple. 

This is not the witch for you, Lupin, he warned himself. 

He must not confuse comfort with attraction. They lived together, so a certain degree of closeness was inevitable, and Orla was so good with Teddy, he wasn’t sure he would have coped half so well without the young Irish girl helping him. But, there was no possible way there could be anything more between them, for starters, she was even younger than Tonks had been, and Merlin knows he’d balked enough at that. Twenty years was too much. 

Hermione and Severus.

The thought popped unbidden into his head, and he attempted to dampen it down straight away. Snape and Granger’s situation was entirely different, the two of them were under a dark curse and were doing simply what they needed to do to stay alive. He would not use their misfortune to justify any kind of lusting over Orla Malfoy. She was a sweet girl, and he felt protective towards her, nothing more. She was now pregnant by a vile Death Eater, a hideous excuse for a wizard that would no doubt stake his claim on the child should he ever find out of her conception. That was the problem that Orla currently had facing her. Tomorrow, they would need to seek advice. 

With more regret than he’d anticipated, he gently lifted his arm from atop her stomach and edged himself off the bed, stopping at the door to take one more glance at the sleeping girl before heading across the hall to his own bedroom, and to his peacefully-slumbering baby son. 

-xxx-

Severus walked through the grounds of Hogwarts, across the huge sloping lawns that led down towards Hagrid’s hut. He did not want to be too near the Forbidden Forest, lest the flames that he was about to conjure took hold of any trees, and nor did he want to make fire at night, which would glow brightly in the dark sky and may draw attention to what he was doing. 

The stolen Horcruxes weighed heavy in his pocket, and in his heart. He had returned to the castle and retrieved the cup, the ring and the locket from where he had secreted them, behind Dumbledore’s Pensieve. He intended to destroy them, once and for all. Even though Voldemort’s attempts to reanimate the diary had been unsuccessful, it did not necessarily mean that all his future efforts would be, too, and he was unlikely to give up. If he managed to revive the piece of soul that had been kept inside the diary, he would be after the rest of these items, that was why they had been stored so securely. 

Granger had told him that Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem had been obliterated in the Room of Requirement, so that Horcrux was out of the Dark Lord’s reach, and therefore Severus planned to do the same with these three. Potter and the snake were both dead and their bodies disposed of, so those pieces of soul were also lost to him. It was only these three – the cup, ring and locket, and the diary which he had in his possession, that were viable targets for his attempts at reanimation. 

Severus scored a circle in the grass, summoning rocks from the Forbidden Forest and placing them around the circle, building a wall of sorts, and casting a Solidifying spell to make them as strong as possible, not that they would contain Fiendfyre for long. His aim was to cast the enchanted fire, destroy the Horcruxes so that they could never be used again, and then magically douse the flames using the counter-curse before they burnt away too much of the ground. That had been Crabbe’s mistake, Severus understood, that Vincent had cast the Fiendfyre but was unable to implement the counter-curse. Idiot, stupid boy. 

He took the three objects from the inner pocket of his cloak, and threw them into the middle of the circle. They were important historical artefacts, especially to the school, being two items from Salazar Slytherin and one from Helga Hufflepuff, but the risk to humanity was too great if Voldemort was able to reanimate even the tiniest shred of his diseased soul inside them. They had to be destroyed. 

Taking a deep breath and focusing all his magical energy and concentration, he cast the incantation for Fiendfyre, having to fight to hold his wand steady as the flames left the tip with such a powerful whoosh that a lesser wizard would have been knocked to the ground. No wonder Vincent Crabbe had lost control so easily in a room stuffed to the rafters with flammable magical objects. It was a miracle that he hadn’t killed all six of them that had been in the Room of Hidden Things at the time, Granger included. 

The ground caught light immediately, obliterating the Horcruxes into black powdered dust instantly. As he’d expected, the stones only held for a few seconds more, and the fire had already started to stream across the grass as he broke the spell and cast the counter-curse to douse the flames. It was all over within seconds, a scorched streak with one round end about twenty feet long, looking like a black comet, the only indicator that anything had happened here. 

And that, Vincent Crabbe, is how you cast and control Fiendfyre. 

Severus would leave the grass to grow over, since it had the whole summer to do so. He kicked the charred dust around, scattering the remains, ensuring that nothing was left of the three artefacts that had been used for such Dark purposes.

Satisfied, he turned to walk back to the school, when a face peering from the edge of the forest caught his eye, surprising him by its very presence. 

“Who goes there?” he called, sharply, for no one apart from himself should be on the school grounds over the summer holidays. 

“It is I, Firenze.”

“Show yourself, Firenze! Have no fear, you are welcome here.”

The centaur left the safety of the forest and trotted towards him, and Severus extended his hand to shake that of his former colleague, banished under the orders of Dolores Umbridge under the ‘half-breed’ laws. 

“Have your herd remained in the forest since the banishment order was made?” Snape asked. 

“We have. No one from the Ministry is fool enough to come searching any deeper than a few dozen feet into the Forbidden Forest. So long as they cannot see us, they presume us banished; the insignificant fools,” Firenze replied, in disgust. 

“I am pleased to hear that you are all safe. Do you know anything of Hagrid?”

“The half-giant lives in the shelter that he made for his brother, Grawp.”

“Grawp? Rubeus had a giant living in the forest whilst he worked here?”

“He did. We all warned him against it, warned him that the giant could not be trained or socialised, but I have to admit he did have some degree of success.”

“And where is this Grawp now?”

“He was killed in the battle of Hogwarts. Much larger and more vicious giants overpowered him easily as he fought for the school.”

Severus’ face fell. He had known nothing of this. 

“Would you be able to take a message to Hagrid for me, Firenze? I do not wish to ask too much of you.”

Severus knew he needed to remain respectful. Even though Firenze had taught at Hogwarts and been treated as a colleague when he had fallen foul of his herd, he was still a centaur, and centaurs could be proud, arrogant arseholes, when it suited them. 

“And what should I say to him?”

“Please tell Hagrid that his hut in the school grounds is at his disposal during the summer. The castle is magically warded so that no one can enter apart from the Headmaster and my privately-invited guests, but the wards will not affect Hagrid leaving the forest and returning to his hut. Advise him that I will send house-elves to deliver his food; he should not attempt to enter the castle.”

“I shall be pleased to pass that message on, Headmaster.”

“Thank you, Firenze.”

The centaur looked at him for a long while, in silence, as if appraising him. 

“The time for confrontation and finality draws near,” he said, cryptically. 

“I do hope so,” replied Snape, drily.

Firenze did not reply, but dipped his head slightly in farewell, before turning on his heel and galloping into the forest. Severus took one final look at the scorched streak on the lawn, and was pleased with his efforts. The Dark Lord would no doubt discover the theft of the Horcrux receptacles, the only question was, when? 

-xxx-

Hermione sat on the window seat in Shell Cottage, looking out at the beautiful Tinworth beach before her, which was a couple of hours before sunset and dappled a gorgeous colour in the evening sun. The windows and doors were flung open to allow a cooling sea breeze to blow through the house, as the hot July weather was making the small cottage warm and oppressive, especially for Fleur who was now entering her sixth month of pregnancy. 

The Frenchwoman, her baby bump small and trim, was deep in conversation with Orla, who had just revealed her own unexpected pregnancy, by the Death Eater Yaxley, no less. 

Hermione shuddered. 

The backbone of this girl she’d only known properly for a few months, amazed her – if she were pregnant, let alone by the bastard who’d repeatedly raped her, Hermione wasn’t sure that she would now be making plans for the future that involved a surprise infant daughter. 

Hermione had no idea what she herself would do in that situation at all. Thank Merlin that Snape was so meticulous about ensuring she took the monthly contraceptive potion that he brewed personally. 

Then again, Orla clearly had a strong maternal gene, she was wonderful with Teddy and was providing great help and support for Remus, back at Grimmauld Place. Having lost both her parents and having no other family apart from the odious Malfoys, perhaps it wasn’t quite so surprising that she would cling on to the idea of having a piece of her own flesh and blood that she could keep, and could love. 

Hermione, Orla, Remus and Teddy had all been invited to Shell Cottage for dinner, after Orla had talked with Fleur via the Floo connection and revealed her pregnancy. Charlie was cooking, and there were delicious smells wafting from the kitchen side of the room. Garth was trotting around his master’s feet, getting in the way, but the occasional trodden toe he was receiving seemed worth it, as Charlie often tossed a scrap or tidbit the dragon’s way as he prepared the meal. The two of them were quite comical together, as Garth clearly thought he was a kind of pet, like a dog or house-cat. 

Hermione curled her legs beneath her on the gingham cushions, leaning back against the window-frame and breathing the fresh, salty air deeply into her lungs. All this being cooped up inside was no good; even if they did have the small garden at Grimmauld Place, it wasn’t the same. 

She watched Fleur walk into the kitchen area to collect drinks, and sweep her hand tenderly across Charlie’s back as she passed him. The remaining Weasley turned to her, and Hermione could see the small, private smile on his tanned, freckled face; his ginger curls pulled back in a scruffy mass at the back of his head. Charlie leaned forwards and placed a gentle kiss on Fleur’s nose, and then her lips, before putting the arm that was not stirring the pot around her, allowing her to lean against him. 

He was still providing the support that his former sister-in-law needed, and it seemed that their relationship, however odd or inappropriate it was, was something they were both gaining strength and sustenance from. Who was anyone to deny them the shred of happiness they had found in the middle of their greatest despair?

Watching their chaste intimacy sent her mind spinning to the dark professor, the wizard who had instructed her body from its virgin state to become the instrument of pleasure it was now. Unsurprisingly, the compulsion picked up on her thoughts and she felt a pulse in her knickers. Now, that was inconvenient, since they were soon to be sitting down for dinner. Hermione hoped it was a slow-burn need, rather than a screaming urgency, since Charlie’s crock-pot stew looked fabulous, and her mouth was watering. 

She was distracted from her thoughts by a head in the fire, and a broad Irish voice calling out.

“Hello? Anybody there, now?”

Fleur went to answer the call, and it was Seamus, moaning loudly that no one had been at Grimmauld Place when he’d called there. Fleur advised that everyone was here, and after checking with Charlie that there was enough dinner, she opened the connection and invited Seamus through. Her effervescent friend filled the room with his loud voice and firm presence, and Hermione was happy to be wrapped up in a warm hug of greeting. Charlie then called everyone to the table, sending the plates over with a wave of his wand, that he then poked through the knot of hair at the back of his head to store it, since he wore a short-sleeved t-shirt with nowhere else to put it. 

There was little talking after drinks had been poured, since they were all snaffling the delicious stew, but an amusing moment occurred when Teddy, who’d been sitting on Lupin’s lap, made a grab for his father’s plate, slapped his hand in the food, and then sat happily licking thick, meaty gravy from his little fist.

“Ahh, Remus, eet looks like Teddy will be ‘aving real food sooner rather than later, yes?” Fleur remarked, laughing. 

“Yes, he’s certainly ready for something more than milk. I shall have to ask the Hogwarts elf who brings our food to start bringing a selection of baby purees too. Can you imagine the mess?” he asked, with a smile, as Teddy flicked gravy everywhere. 

“And there’ll soon be two of them,” Orla cut in, and Seamus looked surprised, until she quickly and practically filled him in on the situation, and he whistled in shock. 

“Bloody hell, Orla, you’re a brave girl,” he exclaimed. 

“It is what it is,” she shrugged, more nonchalantly than Hermione suspected she felt. 

Charlie suddenly cleared his throat to catch everyone’s attention. 

“I hate to be the bringer of bad news, Orla, but have you thought about how the birth of this baby will be registered? Magical births are different from Muggle ones. If you are unmarried, you have to present yourself at the Ministry and supply the name of the father so that his name can be added to the child’s magical birth certificate. He’s then contacted to confirm his acceptance of his responsibilities, even if he is not with the mother.”

“What? I can’t do that!” she replied, looking shaken. 

“You have to. The Ministry can tell when a magical child is born, the archives record everything, even in the case of Muggle-borns. It’s how the Book of Names works, the record that’s kept at Hogwarts for admissions. They know if a magical person is born, they know if one dies. If a new witch or wizard is born, and the parents are not married, the woman who has given birth is required to go the Ministry and register. The only exception to this is if the child is fully Muggle-born, I mean, to two Muggles, in which case the record is kept in the Book of Names and contacted the year they turn eleven, or if the mother is a Muggle, the wizard father must register the birth. You are a witch and the father is a wizard, you will not be exempt.”

“I can’t have Yaxley knowing that he has fathered a child with me! I would never be safe from him for the rest of my life!”

“I agree, that would be dangerous,” Remus agreed, looking concerned. 

“It’s a sad day when you wish your brother had fathered your child, rather than the raping scum who actually did,” Orla observed, so acidly that it made most of the others wince at her brutal honesty. 

“Hang on, Charlie,” Seamus cut in. “You said if the parents are not married. What if they are?”

“If a magical birth is recorded, and the mother is married, whether to a wizard or to a Muggle man, then the birth is automatically registered with the husband and wife as the parents.”

“But how do they know?” Seamus pressed. 

Charlie paused, apparently wondering if Seamus was asking what he thought he was. 

“They don’t, I suppose,” he conceded, finally. “All my younger siblings’ births were automatically registered because my parents were married.”

“So technically,” Seamus continued, “if the wife been carrying on an affair, and had a baby that wasn’t her husband’s, it would still be registered as if it was?”

Charlie shrugged. 

“I suppose so. I’ve never thought of it that way, but yes, it must do.”

“That must have been what happened when I was born,” Orla interjected. “I don’t have a magical birth certificate, only a Muggle one. Despite my real father being a wizard, because she was married to my father, he was presumed to be my biological one.”

“Easy then,” Seamus concluded, snapping his fingers. “Get married to me, Orla. Then when the baby is born, she’ll be registered with me as the father. That fecking cunt Yaxley will never know, and nor will the Malfoys. We can get divorced once all this shite is over.”

Gasps of surprise rang out around the table at Seamus’ audacious offer, and mouths fell open. Garth copied them, from his position next to Charlie’s plate, dropping his mouth open and letting a chunk of meat fall out, which made them all laugh and broke the tension somewhat. 

“That’s a fine offer, Seamus,” Lupin said, appearing tense, “but you do realise a magical marriage needs to be genuine in all senses of the word, to be legally binding? You would need to undertake a bonding ceremony, live together, and consummate your union.”

“I’m willing to do that,” Finnigan shot back. “Orla, are you with me? What do you think?”

“I think … I think that it’s a really clever idea, Seamus, and I’m grateful for your offer, but I wouldn’t expect you to commit to something as serious as a legal, magical bonding just to help me.”

“Honestly, I don’t mind. We’re all standing together here, aren’t we?” 

“It’s a great offer, Orla,” Charlie chipped in. “It will keep your daughter’s paternity secret and also rids you of the Malfoy name, as a marriage trumps a birth name, for a witch.”

“I said no!” Orla shouted, shocking them all as she rose from her seat, laying her napkin firmly on her plate and pushing her chair back so that she could leave the table. 

“It’s a no,” she repeated, more calmly, this time. “It is a really kind offer, Seamus, and I do sincerely thank you, but I can’t do it. I can’t be in a marriage like that, just because of a baby, like my mother was. If you’ll all excuse me, I need … some time. Thank you for dinner, Charlie, and for inviting me, Fleur.”

Nodding her goodbyes to the rest, Orla walked determinedly towards the fireplace and scooped up a handful of Floo powder, throwing it on to the flames whilst she called out for Grimmauld Place. In a whoosh of green, she was gone, leaving a table full of surprised people behind her. 

“It ees ze ‘ormones,” explained Fleur. “Orla ees not ‘erself. Give ‘er time. She will change ‘er mind, I am sure.”

“That was really noble, Seamus,” Charlie reassured their friend. “As well as being a damn good idea.”

Remus got to his feet, his expression grave and thoughtful. 

“I am going to see if she is alright,” he explained. “Hermione, you will be staying here for a while, yes?”

“Oh … yes, of course,” she replied, getting the distinct impression that the question was actually more of a request. “Shall I bring Teddy through later, when I return?”

“I will ‘ave ze bebe while you are gone,” offered Fleur, who also seemed to have realised that Remus may need some time alone with Orla, and held out her arms for the child.

“Thank you,” he said, gratefully, passing his son to Fleur. “I appreciate that.”

Lupin did not elaborate further, but walked towards the fireplace and disappeared the same way that Orla had, just a few minutes previously. 

Fleur gave Hermione a meaningful look, although Charlie and Seamus both appeared blissfully ignorant. Perhaps that was for the best. If there was anyone Orla needed at the moment, it was the solid, dependable Remus Lupin. He would give her the comfort, reassurance and support that she needed, no doubt about that. 

Once the dinner things had been cleared, she volunteered to do the washing-up, mostly to get out of babysitting, but also to attempt to distract herself from the compulsion, which was building up to an irritating niggle that refused to back down. As she scrubbed the dishes by hand, the Muggle way, to string out the maximum time in the kitchen, Hermione felt a little guilty that part of her was actually welcoming of the compulsion, because it meant she had a reason to go to Snape. At present, being in close proximity to her former professor was like finding her happy place. 

In the midst of this war, this chaos, after such great losses, she had found something with this wizard that she’d never have expected in a million years. Did she love him? Hermione wasn’t sure. He could be correct in his advice, that all her very large feelings could all be linked to the compulsion. She had to wait until it was lifted, only then could she be sure. It was worrying, that she might not be in control of her own feelings and emotions, that these were being controlled by the dark curse. 

Especially when those feelings were so strong. 

Once night began to fall, they sat outside on the veranda, still close enough to the cottage to be within the protective wards of the Fidelius charm, and watched as Charlie transformed into his Animagus form for their entertainment, and for his own exercise. Seamus was blown away, exclaiming wildly at how impressed he was, and how he wanted to become an Animagus, too, a swarthy fox, like his Patronus. 

Charlie was magnificent as a dragon. His movements were stunning, and he knew exactly how to move his animal form, no doubt from years of studying Dragonology. He had not managed to remove the crazy tuft of red hair from the top of the dragon’s head, but Fleur stated that she rather liked it, and that it made the dragon look very handsome. 

Garth was flapping around on the sand, being encouraged to spread his wings by the larger dragon, who he seemed to know was his master. Garth never tried to fly unless Charlie was in his Animagus form, and it was wonderful to see him propel his little body to soar into the air, even if he did plop out of the sky shortly afterwards, hence why Charlie practised him over the sea – since the little dragon could swim, but not fly, and the warm seawater was the perfect place for crash landings. 

It really was a pleasant way to spend an evening, especially knowing that she had justifiable cause to put in a Floo call to the Headmaster’s office when she returned home. 

-xxx-

Remus stepped over the fireplace in the Grimmauld Place kitchen, looking around for Orla, who had just left Shell Cottage a few minutes before. She was not there, but the door to the hallway was open, indicating that she must be in another part of the house. He had a quick look in the sitting room and then the library, before heading upstairs to her bedroom, tapping on the door as he had done the night before. 

There was no answer, and so, worried, he turned the handle and pushed the door open anyway, murmuring his apologies for intruding. Orla was standing by the window, looking out into the London square of Grimmauld Place, just a normal, Muggle residential street, aside from the hidden number twelve. He walked over to her, and placed his hand on her back.

Orla looked up at him, although she was only a few inches shorter than he, her white-blonde hair spilling around her shoulders. She had not been crying, but in her eyes he could detect a sadness that he recognised only too well. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, and she nodded. “Teddy is being cared for at Shell Cottage, for the time being. I wanted to come and speak with you. You left rather abruptly.”

She sighed, and pushed her hair back from her face.

“I don’t want to marry Seamus,” she replied, going a little red in the face. 

“Nobody said you had to. But you must admit, it was a good suggestion for your … current situation.”

“It was. I know it was.”

“Seamus Finnigan is a good man.”

Orla sighed again, and turned fully towards him. 

“But, Remus, he isn’t … he’s not … not you.”

He stared at her, not sure whether he had just misheard or misunderstood the words that had just spilled from her mouth. 

“Would you do it?” she asked. “Would you bond with me, to help me hide this baby? I know it’s a massive, huge ask, but you know, we are both in hiding here, together, anyway, and I can help with Teddy, and you can …”

“Orla,” he interrupted. “That is a terrible idea. I would be terrible for you. I am grieving, I am a mess, not to mention twenty years older than you.”

“I’m grieving too,” she whispered. “And I live with your mess, every day. We are, to all intents and purposes, co-habiting. I’ll understand if the idea is abhorrent to you, I would not pressure you to do anything against your will.”

“I love my wife, Orla,” he replied, in a low voice that cracked as he spoke. 

“I know you do, and I am not seeking to take her place. I am not asking you to love me, Remus, I am asking you to help me. To live a life with me that we are practically living already.”

He took a deep breath, and released it, slowly and cautiously.

“It is the practically part that I am concerned about. You do realise what you are asking me? That a bonding will need to be consummated to be legally and magically binding? You are a rape victim, Orla, and have recently lost your boyfriend.”

“I feel safe with you,” she offered, in way of an answer. 

“I cannot do that to you,” he insisted, for although her reasoning had merits, he just … couldn’t. 

She looked up at him, her ice-blue eyes clear and searching. 

“Then don’t do it to me. Do it with me. It only has to be once, after the ceremony. Like Seamus said, once the world is less crazy, you can divorce me.”

Did she think so little of herself? He must address that, now. 

“The problem is,” he croaked, preparing himself to be utterly honest, to let his guard down, “is that I am just a mere wizard, just a man with human needs, and I fear that I would not be content … with once.”

Comprehension filled those blue eyes. 

He had said too much. He had scared the girl. 

Orla reached out her hands and put them on his shoulders, tiptoeing slightly, and then leaned forwards, placing the lightest of kisses on his starved lips, sending a shiver of pleasure through his body that ended up somewhere near his toes. She stood back down. 

“If your only worry is for me, then don’t. Over the last year, I have proved myself stronger than I ever imagined possible, and in a few months I will have a daughter to care for, and to keep hidden from her father. I would be proud if you would allow both she and I to bear your name, and to live under your protection until this world of ours becomes a safe place again.”

“I am not sure the protection of a fugitive werewolf is of any great benefit to you,” he replied, but he could not help slipping his arms around her waist, the feel of her body beneath his hands immediately revealing how long he had wanted to hold her, to hold someone. 

“You are all the protection I need, if you will help me? I realise that it is a huge ask.”

Orla slid her hands up his arms as he held her around the waist, one hand reaching behind the back of his neck and making all the hairs stand on end with the thrill of being touched. 

“As you so coherently point out, we are living together as a family already. We are raising Teddy like two parents.”

“I would never presume to take your wife’s place, Remus. I do not expect you to love me.”

He felt a pain in his chest, and was unsure whether it was because of his grief for Tonks, or sadness at the acceptance in the girl’s words. Perhaps it was both. 

“You will not take her place, Orla. You will occupy a different one.”

He could reconcile that in his confused head. She would not take the place of his son’s mother. But he would create a new place in his heart for her – he could do that. Leaning forwards, he did something that, if he was honest, he’d been wanting to do for a while now. 

He kissed her. 

He pressed his mouth to Orla’s and began to move his lips, feeling her hands grip his shoulders and thinking rather inanely that his beard and moustache could have done with a trim, they were a little overgrown. She didn’t seem to mind, however, and he was gratified to see her eyes close as she sank against him, and her body felt wonderful, the warmth of another person so close to him was nothing short of heavenly.

They kissed for a short while, nothing heavy, and his tongue stayed firmly inside his own mouth. Remus enjoyed moving his mouth around hers, planting searching little kisses, and longer, more intense ones on her incredibly soft lips where he plied them gently with his own. She was so tender, so considerate. That anyone could have hurt this lovely girl made him feel sick. 

Orla broke the kiss, dropped her arms, and took a step back, creating a small distance between them. 

“So, do you think we can do this?” she asked, a tentative smile on her face, as if desperate for his approval and agreement. 

Remus raised his arms and took hold of her face in both his hands, cupping her face and tilting it so that she could see the sincerity in his eyes. 

“Here is my answer,” he whispered, keeping hold of her face and gifting her with another kiss, pressing harder this time, allowing his mouth to open and his tongue to push forwards, between her lips and slowly opening them, finding her own tongue warm and willing. 

Snogging her open-mouthed, Remus slipped one hand behind her head to keep it steady, enjoying the feel of that silky-smooth hair tickling his fingers. The other hand he dropped around her shoulders, his large palm splayed across her back as continued to lavish attention upon her mouth, receiving an equal amount in return. Their tongues swirled together, discovering one another, the thrill of a first kiss not lost of either of them, despite the circumstances. 

He felt her arms thread around his waist as he kissed her thoroughly, and desperately, like a drowning man thrown a life-raft. 

It felt good.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who is to say what is too soon? Any one of us could be dead tomorrow, Remus, we are all under threat. I say we take every moment of the life that has been gifted to us, to live for all those we held dear.”

Hermione tumbled through the Floo connection with a sound-asleep Teddy Lupin cradled tightly in her arms, probably too tightly, since she was terrified about dropping the baby and somehow losing him halfway between Grimmauld Place and Shell Cottage. She stepped over the hearth of her kitchen and was relieved to see Remus sitting at the table; he got to his feet immediately when he saw her, holding out his arms for his sleeping son. 

“Thank you, Hermione,” Lupin said, gratefully, managing to skilfully extract Teddy from her grip without waking him.

“I literally just brought him home,” she admitted. “It was Fleur that did most of the childcare, although Charlie did bravely step up and volunteer for the post-dinner nappy change.”

“Always a stinker,” he replied, smiling indulgently down at his son. 

He put Teddy gently in the kitchen cradle and gestured towards the table, where he’d been drinking tea, and summoned a second mug from the dresser, pouring one for Hermione. She sat down with him, and took the drink gratefully; Remus made a great cuppa. 

“How did it go with Orla? Is she ok?”

He smiled again, differently this time. Something had happened between them, Hermione was sure of it. She had suspected Remus had had an ulterior motive for following her home after she left Shell Cottage so abruptly, and had been wondering for a while now whether there was, or could possibly be, more between her two housemates than simply a necessary friendship. 

“She will be fine. She’s very tired, hugely emotional, and is sleeping now.”

Hermione waved her hands around in frustration at what he was not telling her. 

“And?”

Lupin sighed in good-natured resignation. 

“We have agreed to bond. She and the baby will take my name, and her daughter will be presumed to be mine.”

“What?”

“You heard me correctly, I believe. I did point out that having your child presumed to be a half-werewolf was not particularly protective, but apparently a rapist Death Eater for a father is worse,” he confirmed, smiling wryly.

Orla had taken Seamus’ idea to bond to cover the paternity of the child, which was sound and made good sense, but instead had chosen … Lupin? 

From a practical point of view, Hermione had to agree with Remus, to have not just Teddy but also the new baby falling foul of the half-breed law did not seem sensible, surely it was just putting another child at risk? But then, it was probable that the child would be more at risk, were it known that Corban Yaxley was her father. 

But why Remus? 

Why complicate the issue by adding another problem, that of his lycanthropy? 

There was no denying that the two of them had become very close in the weeks they had all lived here together. They were, to all intents and purposes, living together as a married couple anyway, sharing the domestic chores and the care of a baby. There was just the small matter of the required consummation to make a magical marriage legally binding, but that wasn’t the end of the world, considering what Orla had already been through, and Remus would of course be kind and gentle. But still, surely a marriage in name only, to Seamus Finnigan, would lead to far less problems, in the long run? 

“Well,” she began. “I don’t really know what to say. I can see the obvious pitfalls, of course, but I can also see why it would work.”

“You can?”

He seemed surprised. 

“Of course I can. The two of you live in a very domestic situation already.”

“Apart from the sex,” he interjected.

“There is that.”

“I kissed her tonight,” Remus admitted, although his smile began to fade a little. “She kissed me back, too.”

“You did? But you don’t seem happy about it?”

“Confused. Conflicted. Dora … it’s so soon to be intimate with someone else.”

Hermione reached for her friend’s hand and clutched it with both of hers, feeling him return her squeeze. 

“They’re all gone, Remus. All of them. The few of us here, we are the only ones left. We can miss them desperately, of course we can, but it won’t bring them back. Ever. We can only fight to carve out new lives for ourselves without those who were most dear to us. Living well does not mean they are forgotten, it just means you are not willing to waste the life you are fortunate to still have.”

“She shouldn’t have died, Hermione!” he shouted, pulling his hands away from hers and slamming his palm hard on the table, making her jump. “I agree with what you’ve said, of course I do, but Tonks shouldn’t have died. She shouldn’t have even been at the castle that night! She should have stayed with her mother, like I told her to! Then Teddy would still have his mum, and I would still have my wife! She didn’t fucking listen to me!”

Hermione did not answer him, but allowed him to stand up forcefully from the table, kicking the wooden chair so hard that it fell over, making the baby startle, but thankfully not wake. Remus paced around the kitchen, hands raking through his dark-blond hair in frustration. 

“I asked her why she had come, when I first saw her, the night of the battle,” he said, bitterly. “I told her that Teddy needed her, and do you know what she told me? You need me more tonight, Remus. I tried to send her back, but she wouldn’t go! And it cost her life! Loving me, cost her life! I am a danger.”

“Now that’s not true, and well you know it,” Hermione replied, quietly. “It was Tonks’ decision to join the battle, and we both know that nothing anyone said would have persuaded her to leave. You did not cause her death, either directly or otherwise.”

Remus stopped pacing and sat back down, facing her. 

“She chose me, Hermione. She chose me, over her son.”

His face was wrought with anguish, his eyes imploring her to say that he was wrong.

“She did, Remus. She had to make an unthinkable choice, and knowing that Teddy was safe with her mother; she chose you, because she loved you.”

“Then by kissing Orla, by accepting her request to bond, do I not defile that love? Does it mean that my love for her was not as great?”

“Of course not. You loved her fully, with every fibre of your being, and you will always love her. But you have a life to live, a continuing life that you must appreciate and live to the fullest, because it is a life that has been denied to most of our friends. You also have a son to raise to the best of your ability, as a mark of respect to his mother.”

“It is not too soon?”

“Who is to say what is too soon? Any one of us could be dead tomorrow, Remus, we are all under threat. I say we take every moment of the life that has been gifted to us, to live for all those we held dear.”

He didn’t answer, but began to nod slowly, as if he desperately wanted to believe her, but wasn’t quite there yet. 

“Bond with Orla. Protect her with your name, accept her help with Teddy and offer her the same help in return with her own baby. When all this is over … however this war ends, if you have a chance to build a life together, well, then no one would begrudge either of you your happiness.”

“She said if the world changes, I can divorce her.”

“That’s not something you have to think about now. Do you enjoy being with her?”

“Very much so.”

“Do you, um, fancy her?”

“Despite feeling a hundred years older than her, yes.”

“Severus thinks like that about me,” she replied, candidly. 

“Severus, eh?” he teased, leaning back in his chair with the ghost of a smile beginning under his moustache, making Hermione blush. 

“He’s very kind to me,” she stammered. 

“Hermione, I am teasing you. Take everything that you have just said to me, and apply it to yourself. I have seen you and Severus together, I have seen how he watches you when he thinks no one is looking, how he admires you. If the two of you, after all this is over, can also be happy together …”

“We are very different,” she interrupted. 

“I think you are more alike than you realise.”

“I was his student!”

“And Orla was mine,” he shot back, still smiling. “You care for him, don’t you?”

Hermione felt her shoulders sag. 

“I think I do.”

“And that is alright,” he reassured, patting her hand. “Even Slytherin bastards like Severus Snape need love.”

They both laughed, despite themselves, finding humour even in the depths of despair, in this terrible new world where they both lived, a world where all those they held dear had been taken from them. Teddy really did wake up, this time, and began to holler for a late-night feed. 

“Duty calls,” Remus observed, getting to his feet. “And, the way you’re hopping around in that chair, suggests you should let me help you.”

He cast his wand at the fire, send through the shot of green flame that would burst in Snape’s office, indicating one of them needed to speak to him without the need to stick their head in the fireplace, before smirking at her and heading to the cradle to collect the whimpering infant. 

“Yes?” the headmaster replied, almost instantly, his head appearing in the kitchen fire. 

“Hello. Can I come through?” she asked, not giving the reason, despite all three of them knowing quite clearly what the problem was. 

“Of course.”

His head disappeared immediately, saying nothing further, no doubt he had seen Lupin pottering around near the stove behind her, preparing Teddy’s bottle.

“We’ll see you tomorrow then, shall we, Hermione?” Remus asked, with a knowing look. 

She smiled at him, and stepped into the fire, tumbling through the Floo connection for the second time that hour. 

-xxx-

Snape had returned to his desk in the time it had taken her to bid Remus farewell and travel through the Floo, he had a ledger in front of him that he was writing in, and one of his heavy glasses of firewhisky on a coaster within easy reach. 

“Good evening,” he greeted, his voice deep and suggestive, or maybe she was just hearing it that way. 

“Hello,” she replied, approaching the desk. “I’m going to need your assistance, I’m afraid. I’m sorry if you’re busy.”

He looked up, and one side of his mouth crooked up in a sexy half-smile. 

Sexy half-smile? Not a description that was often applied to Professor Snape, she suspected, allowing her eyes to trail down his front, seeing a small patch of black hair peeking from the top of his open shirt. His long, black hair was hanging around his ears, just skimming his shoulders, and she wanted to grab a handful of it and bring his head down roughly to kiss her …

Shit, her compulsion was building quickly now that she was here alone with him, pushing her towards him, making her mind race with all manner of inappropriate thoughts. It had been grumbling for a few hours now, while she had been at Shell Cottage, but had only started to become uncomfortable in the last minute. He had an intoxicating effect on her; his very proximity ignited her urgent physical need. 

Hermione rested her fingers on the desk, unable to stop them tapping impatiently on the polished surface, such was her heightening frustration. 

“You are compelled?”

“Very.”

“Why did you not seek help earlier?”

“I was at Shell Cottage with … look, I will explain everything, lots has happened tonight and there is much to tell you, but first I just … I just need …” she told him, helplessly, willing him to understand that he had to ease her compulsion first. 

He beckoned her to walk around to his side of the desk, pushing back his wheeled chair to create a space for her to stand in front of him, perching on the edge. He remained seated, taking hold of her hips and splaying his hands around them, squeezing, and she couldn’t hold in a soft moan of relief at his familiar touch. 

“You are in need,” he observed, and she nodded, chewing on her lip. 

Snape flicked his wand to clear the surface of his desk, and she heard him place the cushioning charm upon it. 

“Remove your dress, Granger.”

Hermione’s stomach lurched as she pulled the soft material of her summer dress over her head and tossed it to one side, leaving her standing just in her underwear, feeling a cool breeze on her body that must be coming from an open window, somewhere in the office. 

Severus feasted his eyes upon her, feeling his cock begin to harden just by looking at this little witch in her white brassiere and knickers. The bra was rather thin, and he could see the outline of her nipples beginning to become erect through the sheer fabric, and he suddenly had a wicked idea, if he could persuade her to play along? 

Putting out his right hand, he summoned a luxurious, feathery quill – an implement that he never used due to it being so fucking ostentatious, like an enormous fluffy black plume of a peacock feather. Albus had bought it for him for Christmas one year, probably the old poof’s idea of a joke, since he was well known to use only the plainest and simplest of quills for his research and marking. 

But now? The unwanted gift was about to come in rather useful, if she would allow it. 

Taking hold of the nib end, and looking her straight in the eyes, he trailed the feather end of the quill across her breasts, raising his eyebrow to question whether she would like to proceed. Granger held her shoulders back a little, pushing her breasts forwards, so he was inclined to take that as an affirmative. 

He used the downy feather to stroke her bare arms and stomach, getting her used to the feel of it, before returning to her breasts. 

“Lose the brassiere,” he instructed, enjoying watching her put her arms behind her back and unhook it herself, before tipping forwards and spilling her breasts bare before him. 

Fucking Merlin, he loved her tits. They were absolutely fucking exquisite. 

He held out his hand for the garment with an expectantly raised eyebrow, and she passed the bra over, watching him drop it on top of her discarded dress. It took a fair bit of his resolve not to sniff it. 

Severus then returned to his task, and her nipples were much more sensitive and receptive without their covering, for she shivered as he stroked the feather across them, backwards and forwards, tickling her hardening peaks. 

Fuck, his cock was already throbbing in the tight confines of his trousers. How many years had it been since he had taken a feather to a witch? He could barely remember. He hoped she would let him do as he pleased with her. Desperately hoped. 

“Lie back,” he told her, in a gruff voice that sounded croaky, even to his own ear. 

He stood, assisting her to seat herself on the desk and lay down on its shiny but magically-cushioned surface, slipping off her shoes for her as she did so. From his position above her, she looked like all his dreams come true; her abundant hair strewn wild and curly across his desk, pert tits begging for his attention, brown eyes full of lust and aimed solely at him. At times like this, it was very easy to forget that Granger was magically compelled. 

Severus began to stroke the black plume across her upper body, eliciting sighs of pleasure, especially when he trailed back and forth over her breasts. 

“Is this acceptable?” he asked, hoarsely. “I do not wish to cause you any frustration or discomfort from your compulsion.”

“It’s … really nice,” she admitted. “It’s as if my body knows that you are here, attending to me, and that seems to stop the compulsion from getting desperate.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, for he was enjoying this immensely, and began to trail the feather over her covered mound, and down her thighs, continuing down her shins and under her bare feet, an action that made her gasp and twitch away from him. 

“Ticklish?”

“A little.”

“Relax. Bare foot tickling is not my intention. Not today, anyway.”

With that, he took hold of her little white knickers, tugging them down her hips, which she obligingly lifted for him. He was struck with the idea of removing her underwear with his teeth, but though that might be too much – he needed to show at least a small amount of restraint. The knickers joined her dress and bra on his office floor. 

Sitting back down in his chair, he wheeled himself forwards so that he was seated between her legs, pushing her thighs apart and receiving a fine view of her juicy pussy. Severus stroked the feather down the full length of her body, trailing it across her mons, along her inner thighs and down her outer labia, finishing at her little rear end, where he gifted an extended tickle to the rarely-touched skin and was gratified to watch her lips twitch with the new sensation. 

“Do you like that, Granger?” he asked, whilst repeating the action again. 

“Yes, Professor, I do. Please do it again.”

“Cheeky wench,” he admonished, although he did not correct her, since being addressed as Professor whilst her cunt was open in front of his face, was rather erotic. 

Severus continued to tickle her genitals with the downy feather until he could see her little hole beginning to leak copious amounts of her silky arousal fluid. He set the showy quill to one side, and picked up a smaller one, a simple black crow’s feather, stiff and unyielding, that he used for writing. 

Holding the sharp nib safely in his hand, he extended the small feather towards her, using his other hand to open her labia wide, sliding his fingers around and under the hooded cleft, lifting it back so as to expose her clitoris to its fullest. She gasped, even before the new feather had touched her. 

Delicately, he began to flicker the end of the feather back and forth directly under the hood, irritating the skin there, and then down and across her exposed clit. 

“Oh, holy fuck!” Granger screamed, at the first touch, her stomach immediately contracting with the new sensation. 

“You approve, then, I take it?” he drawled, circling the tiny point around her sensitive bud, earning himself a flurry of surprised gasps. 

“Shit, yes … oh, fuck …”

“So eloquent,” he teased, drawing the end of the feather around her inner lips, marvelling at her complete inability to keep herself still. 

He loved arousing this witch, loved seeing her helpless at his touch. Severus had a fleeting thought that he really should have released his cock from the prison of his trousers first, underestimating how much of an effect her enthusiasm would have upon him. Still, he would bear it, for he was in an excellent position and was not about to remove his hands from her until she achieved the orgasm she needed, and that he wanted to provoke, and observe.

Severus trailed the feather-tip down to her urethral opening and tickled her there, enjoying watching her entire cunt flinch hard, and hearing her shout in weak protest.

“Oh! Oh, god, Sir, please don’t! I’ll wet myself if you carry on … there.”

“I don’t care,” he answered, insolently, keeping up the frustrating tickle upon her private hole, noting a few drops of piss appear from it; she was out of control. “I am enjoying myself immensely.”

“Gods!” she shouted, covering her face with her hands and writhing her hips as he titillated her there without mercy, causing another dribble of urine that made her squeal in frustration – his little peach needed to come. 

Using his soaked fingers to splay her even wider, he took the long edge of the feather and sawed it back and forth across her clitoris, not giving the throbbing, desperate little nub a chance as he tickled and tormented it until Granger thrust her hips up hard in the air, and as she held herself rigid, on the most final cusp of her orgasm, he sped up the pace of the quill, flickering madly on her clit as she threw herself over the edge, panting wildly as her cunt contracted in climax, her hole dripping juice, as it pulsed open and closed to entice him to enter it. 

Bloody Merlin, that had been the most thrilling orgasm it had ever been his great fortune to witness. Granger had just come like a fucking express train, all over his desk, his fingers, and his favourite quill, which he hoped would smell of her essence for a long time hence. 

He stood, wrenching his trousers open to free his erection, before giving that up as a waste of time and simply divesting himself of all his clothes with a wandless charm before leaning over her. 

“Please allow me to fuck you,” he begged, kissing her breasts, reverently. 

“Gladly,” she replied, “but can we go in the bedroom? I need to change position.”

She had barely finished her sentence before he had picked her up from the surface of the desk, wrapping her legs around his slim waist and carrying her across to his bedchamber. 

They nearly didn’t make it to the bed. 

As he paused to magically pull the covers back, he leant her against the bedpost, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him into a deep kiss, pushing her tongue into his mouth and enticing his own out to play. 

He wasn’t a stupid wizard, and was not about to protest, returning Granger’s kiss willingly, and thinking about how damn good it felt to snog this witch as if he were fourteen, not forty. Her kisses were like an art form, every one was different, every one left him wanting more. Severus doubted he would ever tire of the sweet taste of her mouth. 

It was only when his erection, standing proudly upright, began to inadvertently sink into her juicy hole that was gradually sliding further downwards, down the bedpost, as his grip on her loosened, that his good sense returned and he hefted her into the bed, following her in and laying on his back, hoping that she would take the hint and climb aboard. 

He needn’t have worried. Her compulsion ensured that she would take what she needed, and she knelt over him, using her hand to insert the rounded head of his cock inside her, before seating herself fully, allowing the remainder of his prick to slide into place, squeezed blissfully tight in her hot, wet cunt. 

“Oh …” she gasped, taking hold of both his hands that he had held out to her, using them as support to thrust against him, adding a rotation to her hips that he’d not felt her do before. 

“Fuck me, girl,” he hissed, thumping his hips upwards against her, sounding far too lascivious, but he was desperate to spill his load. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Granger doubled her pace, and he shouted out, long and loud, before flipping her onto her back, and reversing their positions. 

“I cannot wait,” he grimaced, plunging into her like a wizard possessed, feeling his heavy balls slap against her arse with the force of his thrusts. “Forgive me, I cannot wait … holy shit!”

Her face was flushed red against his pillows, her tits bouncing wildly as he thundered home.

Rearing up to kneel, he grabbed hold of her knees and held them apart, pushing them to the sides, watching her body shake as he fucked her, holding her tightly. He watched her face, her tits, her gaping pussy, and her hands as they closed over his, upon her knees. 

“Fuck …” he heaved, slamming his final few thrusts home. “Fuck, you should be …”

He came, his mouth spurting as fast and as helplessly as his pulsing cock. 

“Mine! You should … be … mine.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t be nervous,” he whispered, taking her hand as she drew near enough. “Nothing has to happen tonight.”
> 
> “Are you sure about this, Remus?” she asked, concerned. “You are so kind, but you do not have to do this unless you truly wish to.”

“I want to be yours,” she replied, as he slowed his thrusting, feeling pained and exhausted, but transcendent, slipping one tired hand from her knee and down her thigh, delving between her wet labia and haphazardly rubbing her clitoris, for she had not yet come – his own climax had been so fast and desperate. 

“God knows I want you, Granger,” he hissed, dangerously, speeding up the movements of his fingers upon her, feeling her vaginal walls squeeze his rapidly-deflating cock. “But, it will only be when all this … is over.”

She groaned in both frustration and arousal, throwing her head back and closing her eyes, giving herself over to his fingers that were roughly masturbating her, demanding the orgasm to equal his own. 

“Come, my sweet girl,” he crooned, knowing that she was close, very close, he knew her body and could feel it. 

“Severus – oh!”

A particularly wicked swipe of her clit pushed her over the edge, eyelids flying open as her hips thrust upwards as she came, and the force of her contractions pushed his softened prick from inside her. 

“Good girl, keep it going,” Snape breathed, slowing the movements of his fingers to a gentle, circular massage as she came down from her peak, removing himself from between her legs and laying to the side of her, whilst continuing to cup and stroke her. 

“That was so good,” she said, turning to face him and laying her hand on his bare chest. “Thank you.”

“You never have any need to thank me.”

Granger leaned forward and placed a slow, languorous kiss to his mouth, drawing his lips out against hers, a hand cupping his cheek, rough with a day’s growth. 

“I do want to be with you,” she confirmed, again. 

“If that is still what you desire after the Dark Lord is dead, then that is what you shall have. Although I feel I should advise you, or warn you, rather, that my relationship history bears nothing to recommend me.”

“Remus thinks that we are more alike than we realise.”

“Lupin? What does the wolf have to do with anything?”

“Goodness, I have so much to tell you!”

Granger pushed herself up to sitting, then quickly pulled the quilt around her bared breasts. 

“Um, do you have a t-shirt or anything I can borrow? This conversation might take a while and I’d really rather not do it with my boobs hanging out.”

“Believe me when I say, I do not mind looking at them,” he replied, lifting an intentionally lascivious eyebrow. 

She gave him an aggrieved look, which he rather liked, but nonetheless he rolled out of bed and over to his armoire where he selected one of his crisp, white shirts and threw it towards her, shooting his wand as it flew across the room, making it smaller. Granger slipped it on, doing up a few of the buttons and rolling the sleeves up. Severus wasn’t sure whether she looked sexier with it on, or off. 

He went to the bathroom to relieve himself, surprised to find her right behind him as he stood before the toilet bowl, waiting for nature to take its course. Nothing was immediate, these days. She slipped under his arm and wrapped her own around his narrow waist. 

“Would you like me to hold it for you?”

What a bold, and strangely erotic, offer. 

“As you wish,” was all he trusted himself to reply, as she reached round and took a gentle hold of his limp prick, aiming it towards the toilet bowl. 

Surprisingly, he was still able to release, and the sensation of pissing whilst her soft little hand held him steady was nonsensically pleasant, especially as the heel of her fist was pressing against his balls. 

“Kinky witch,” he reprimanded, as he removed his dick from her palm to shake it. 

“I just fancied it.”

She smiled at him as she sauntered over to the sink to wash her hands, and the first thing his eyes focused on was her fucking bare arse cheeks, hanging out of the bottom of his shrunken white shirt. He couldn’t help it, and was upon her in a split-second, bending low and planting a sucking kiss to her peachy arse, right in that delicious curve under her rounded cheek, at the top of her leg. 

“Ye gods, girl, you could drive a wizard to madness,” he muttered, resigned to the indignity of licking her round little bum whilst on bended knee in his own bathroom.

“Stop, then,” he heard her say, without much conviction, as she had reached behind her and grabbed a handful of his lank hair, rubbing rather nicely against his scalp, in a pathetic attempt to tug him back up to standing. 

He was forced to desist his attentions when she began to walk towards the door that led back to the bedchamber, and he heard his knee creak as he got to his feet. If that wasn’t a sign of old age, then nothing was. As he followed her, he picked up his silky, forest-green dressing gown from the hook on the back of the bathroom door, and slipped into it, fastening the sash at the waist. That would do, to cover his nakedness. 

Granger scampered back across the bed and covered her legs beneath the covers, sitting cross-legged and impatient. He ordered tea by calling down to the kitchens, and soon was ensconced in the bed also, warm mugs of Hogwarts best tea in both their hands. 

“Do go ahead,” he urged, taking a delicate sip of his tea, and raising his eyebrow in expectation. 

“Orla is pregnant, and it was the Malfoys who cast the charm that discovered it.”

“What? Oh, bloody hell.”

“Thankfully, it’s not Draco’s.”

Not Draco’s? At least that was one piece of good fortune, as a child created between two half-siblings would risk an unpleasant array of birth defects. But if it wasn’t Draco’s, whose … oh no. 

“It is Corban Yaxley’s child,” he said, more of a statement than a question. 

“It is,” Granger confirmed, and her shoulders sank. 

“What does she intend to do with the pregnancy?”

“Remus cast a dating charm upon her, and she is already about three months, so she insists she’s too far along to end it. She knows it’s a girl, and is adamant that she wants to have and keep the baby.”

“It is not the best of times to be bringing new life into the world.”

“I agree, but I also see that she has lost everyone she held dear. It only makes sense that she would want to keep her own daughter.”

“She realises that there is no way that Yaxley cannot be told? When the child is born, she will need to present herself alongside him at the Ministry, so that paternity can be magically established.”

“Charlie already thought of that, and we discussed it last night, over dinner at Shell Cottage. That rule only applies to unmarried mothers, for if a witch is married, the baby is presumed to be her husband’s and recorded thus.”

Severus wasn’t sure he liked where this discussion was going. 

“And? I hope you are not suggesting that she marries.”

“Seamus Finnigan suggested it.”

“Finnigan would,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes at the Irish boy’s stupidity. “No doubt he offered for the role himself?”

“He did, actually, but Orla turned him down.”

“Very sensible, although I have to admit the idea does hold merit, since Yaxley cannot ever find out he has another child, else she will never be free of him. She will have enough trouble with Lucius Malfoy attempting to gain access to his grandchild.”

“I know, which is why I’m glad she’s arranged to bond with Remus, instead.”

Granger was staring at him, her chin raised defiantly, as if daring him to disagree. He’d seen that look on her face many a time, over the years, in the Potions classroom. 

“Lupin.”

“Yes. I believe there may be more between them than just a convenient arrangement, which is why she refused Seamus,” she explained. 

“I had suspected that myself, as you know. Miss Malfoy is just Lupin’s type, if I remember rightly, if not rather too young.”

“Excuse me?” she shot back, gesturing between the two of them. 

“Our situation is entirely different,” he replied, defensively. 

Something in his answer galvanised her inner Gryffindor, and, sending their cups of tea to the bedside table, she knelt up, placed her hands on his shoulders, and helped herself to a kiss of such depth and intensity that it quite took his breath away. He raised a hand to tangle in her hair, never one to pass up an opportunity for snogging Miss Granger. 

Without warning, she stopped, and sat back in the same position she had been before, calming picking up her tea and taking a sip, smirking at his swollen lips, and his slight pant of arousal and surprise. 

“Yes, very different,” she teased, witheringly.

“You, girl, should be illegal,” he retorted, summoning his own mug of tea to return his hand, shifting slightly to disguise the stirrings of the erection that had sprung up from her passionate and unexpected kiss, with the folds of his dressing gown. 

“Don’t think I can’t see that.”

“Can I have no secrets from you, witch?”

She pretended to think about his request.

“Probably not,” she replied, saucily shaking her head. 

Granger was probably only one more piece of cheek away from him dropping to one knee and proposing marriage. 

How he had longed for a witch like this, all his life. 

A woman who would challenge him, question him, buffer his innate surliness with good humour and arouse his mind as well as his cock. Hermione was barely a woman, but he supposed that mattered not. Severus suddenly wanted this curse gone more than ever, wanting to know the true desires of the girl’s heart; uncompelled. 

“So,” he coughed, anxious to get back to the discussion in hand before he vomited his heart and soul on the bedcovers, “Miss Malfoy believes that marrying Lupin is her best course of action? I take it that someone has pointed out the obvious problem of him being the country’s most wanted werewolf, and that if her daughter is believed to be his progeny, it will be subject to the same level of interest as his son?”

“She knows all of this. Remus told me. But its what she wants, for better or worse. She doesn’t want to hide behind the Malfoy name. Orla wants to be counted for who she is, an opponent of Voldemort’s regime.”

“She is curiously brave for a Hufflepuff.”

“This war has brought out extraordinary traits in all of us.”

“Indeed it has,” he agreed, his eyes searching her face, feeling a pull that used to be indicative of the compulsion. 

Now he was free of it, though he still felt the same desire. 

“Well then, it is their decision to make, but if she thinks that Lucius Malfoy will take the loss of his only grandchild to a werewolf, without a single murmur of dissent, she is badly wrong.”

“They will prepare for that, I’m sure.”

Both Hermione and Severus finished their cups of tea, and sent them back through the Floo, where the empty mugs would find their way to the kitchen.

“It is late,” he observed. 

“Should I go?” 

“What a stupid question,” he replied, dousing the wall sconces, leaving just the flickering golden glow of the fire to light the room, and leant back against his pillows. 

Granger began to unfasten the buttons on his shirt that she had been wearing, revealing once again her sublime body to his view, dropping the garment down the side of the bed, before shifting over to him, and insinuating her small hand between the folds of his thin dressing gown, seeking his cock, that had remained semi-interested. Quick as a flash, she dropped her head and took it into her mouth, swiping her tongue around the head before sliding her lips down his shaft, making him exclaim in surprised pleasure. 

“Fucking hell!”

He felt her smile around his cock, and he ran his hand down her smooth back, enjoying the feel of her warm skin under his palm. A rather wicked idea suddenly came to mind, and he began to pull her hips towards his head. She stopped what she was doing, and looked at him, quizzically. 

“Don’t be thick, Granger, it doesn’t suit you. Straddle my face, so that I may give you the same oral pleasure as you are to me.”

She blushed, beautifully, and he tugged on her leg, encouraging her to lift it over him, and place her genitals directly over his face. As with all things sexual, she trusted him, and he was soon assaulted by the sight and smell of her exposed cunt within licking distance, while her persistent little mouth returned to his cock and began to suck him off in earnest. 

Holy shit. 

He’d better begin, lest he prematurely shoot his load before she was even halfway there. Severus pushed his tongue inside her tight hole, fucking her with it, using his thumbs to hold her labia open to his greedy mouth. 

As he sucked her clitoris between his pursed lips, feeling her moan around his cock as she slurped him towards orgasm, he truly felt like the luckiest bastard in all the world. 

-xxx-

Remus was trying Teddy with a few spoonfuls of sloppy breakfast porridge the next morning, when Orla arrived in the kitchen. Hermione had not returned from Hogwarts, and he guessed she might stay there for a while, since the school was closed for the summer, and because she was no doubt aware that he and Orla may need some space, time and privacy, after their decision to bond. 

The Irish girl stood in the doorway, wearing long pyjama trousers and a Hufflepuff Quidditch jumper, her long, white-blonde hair plaited down one shoulder. Her feet were bare. He was noticing everything today, that he’d never paid that much attention to before. Everything from the iridescent blue of her eyes to the kindness in her smile. After their kiss last night, and his pep-talk from Hermione, he was feeling vastly better about the whole thing. 

“Good morning.”

“It is a good morning.”

Orla approached him, squeezing Teddy’s little knee and asking the child in a high voice if he was enjoying his first big boy’s breakfast. The baby pumped his chubby arms up and down in pleasure, recognising her, and the sound of her voice. 

“Want some help?” she asked, taking the spoon gently from his fingers, and Remus found himself craving the touch. 

“Be my guest,” he replied, turning Teddy towards her. 

She scooped up a small spoon of porridge and placed it expertly in the baby’s mouth, so quickly that the child didn’t have a chance to spit it out, as he’d been doing to his father. Two more spoons of porridge followed suit.

“You are clearly better at this than me,” he said, ruefully, but she refused to accept his self-deprecation. 

“Not at all. It’s tricky to feed a baby when they’re sitting on your lap. Maybe we could conjure some kind of supportive chair to sit him in when feeding? He’s not sitting steady enough for a proper highchair yet.”

“Good idea. I shall do that.”

They were being overly formal with one another, and he suspected she felt it too, as she rose from her chair, Teddy’s porridge finished, and headed for the stove to put the kettle on to boil. He winced as she passed him, and heard the familiar sounds of the kettle being filled, the stove lit, and the metal pot being placed on the burner. 

Suddenly, a pair of arms embraced him from behind, around his shoulders, and placing her hands on his chest. He breathed a huge sigh of both pleasure and relief. For a short while, she simply held him, her cheek pressed to his, then she stood and moved to his side, leaning down to touch her lips to his, and he accepted her kiss.

“Good morning, Remus,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his cheek, once they had left his mouth. 

“Thank you.”

It was all he could muster, in reply. 

“Are we still …?”

“Of course,” he interrupted. “Tonight, if you would like to?”

Orla nodded. 

“Then I shall arrange something in the garden. As you know, magical bonding ceremonies are carried out at midnight, and always outside, in order to feel the earth magick beneath your feet. Do you, erm … do you know what to wear?”

“And what not to wear,” she answered, a small smile creeping to her lips. 

Remus felt a lurch of unexpected excitement, deep in his gut. The day was going to be interminably long. 

-xxx-

Orla crept along the hallway, just before midnight, looking through the door of the bedroom that Remus used, seeing Teddy bathed in the soft glow of a conjured nightlight, snoring softly in the deepest of sleeps, as only a baby could do. Leaving the door ajar, she continued down the stairs, not knowing why she was bothering to tiptoe, since Hermione was still at Hogwarts. 

Remus had told her over lunch, that Snape had managed to locate Hagrid, hiding out in the Forbidden Forest, and had invited him back to use his hut over the summer holidays, since he would be undetectable. Hermione was no doubt spending time with the giant gamekeeper, and Orla remembered Harry, Ron and Hermione being close with Hagrid, during their Hogwarts years. They had often been caught down at his hut, when they shouldn’t have been.

It was a relief, in a way, as it meant that she and Remus could prepare themselves for what they were about to do. He seemed as nervous as she, and Orla supposed it was no small undertaking, to bond yourself to someone, whatever the reasons for doing it. 

As she stepped out into the garden and saw the fruits of his handiwork, Orla was suddenly very glad that she had not accepted the offer from Seamus Finnigan, as kind as it had been. 

Remus had conjured what appeared to be a small forest glade in the tiny garden, which was unrecognisable from the scrubby patch of grass it normally was. 

There were tall trees forming an arbour overhead, and twigs and flora creating a forest floor. The moonlight shone through the gaps in the branches above, and she could see Lupin waiting for her, clad the same as she was, in a plain black robe, his feet bare. 

The older wizard had clearly gone to the greatest of efforts into making a believable bonding venue in the safety of the charmed garden, since they were not able to leave the house to visit a real forest. No one could see them, no one could hear them. Orla stepped towards him, suddenly very conscious of her nakedness beneath her long robe, but that was the custom of a magical bonding, you came to the ceremony unclothed except for your robe. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispered, taking her hand as she drew near enough. “Nothing has to happen tonight.”

“Are you sure about this, Remus?” she asked, concerned. “You are so kind, but you do not have to do this unless you truly wish to.”

By way of an answer, he swirled his cypress wand, conjuring a length of ribbon in the air, which wound itself around both their wrists and handfasted them together. 

“I am certain. Do you wish me to begin?”

Orla nodded, her throat suddenly closing up not only with nerves, but also with emotion at what this wizard was prepared to do for her. Their wrists were fastened together, but loose enough for him to take hold of her hands. 

“I, Remus John Lupin, offer myself as your husband to bond. I fasten my hand to yours, as a sign of my fidelity and commitment.”

His eyes were open and honest, and brimming with a level of genuine emotion that she hadn’t expected to see.

“Now you,” he prompted, giving her a small smile. 

“I, Orla Rose Malfoy,” she began, hating the name she was forced to use, “offer myself as your wife to bond. I fasten my hand to yours, as a sign of my fidelity and commitment.”

A flurry of what seemed like fireflies encircled his head, before moving across to her own, joined, looking like they were wearing two flowered crowns. They dissipated after a few seconds. 

“I would like to add a little more to our vows,” he said. “Orla, I bring to this bonding my love for my wife Dora, for a part of her shall always live in me. My love for her will not lesson the love I hope we will share, and you should not feel threatened by it.”

“I understand,” she replied. “I really do.”

A few tears spilled from her eyes, thinking of Draco, his bravery, right to the end, and his declaration of love for her before those that would do him harm. Of course they would never have lasted, once their genetic connection was revealed, but he had been … very special to her. She was almost sorry that he was not the father of her baby. 

“I also bring to this bonding, my son, Edward. It is my wish that you accept my son as your own, to love him as I do, to provide him with a mother’s love. He already loves you, Orla,” he added, less formally, and with a smile. 

His gesture at involving his son gave her an idea. 

“Can I add something, too?”

“Of course.”

“I also bring to this bonding, my daughter, yet to be born. She shall be named Hope, for that is what I feel when I look at our situation, and our world. I hope for a better future. It is my wish that you accept my daughter as your own, to give her the protection of your name, to provide her with a father’s love.”

Orla was surprised to see tears flowing freely down his cheeks. 

“Hope,” he said, quietly. “Hope was my mother’s name. You could not possibly have known it, and it is a perfect choice. The child you carry within you will be the second witch to bear the name of Hope Lupin.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I bond with you, Orla Rose Malfoy, of my own free will, and call upon the earth magick beneath our feet to confirm our bond,” he announced, and Orla felt the cold ground tingle underneath her bare toes. 

“I bond with you, Remus John Lupin, of my own free will, and call upon the earth magick beneath our feet to confirm our bond.”

The enchanted ribbon unfurled itself from their wrists, and dissipated into thin air, as the firefly coronas had done. Without either of them touching their wands, a scroll appeared, alongside a sparking golden quill.

“This is the Ministry’s recognition of our bond. We need to sign it.”

They took turns with the golden quill, and Orla signed the name of Malfoy for the first and last time in her life. The quill then disappeared, but the scroll remained, hovering in the air between them. 

“That will remain with us,” he explained, looking past her, an embarrassed look on his face. “Until our bond is … confirmed.”

A red flush spread up his neck and bloomed onto his cheeks. 

“You mean, consummated?”

“Magical bondings are usually consummated immediately, hence the lack of clothing, and a private, midnight setting. But Orla, there is no rush. That scroll can remain in the house until you are fully ready, I will not pressure you.”

“I will not pressure you, either,” she replied. 

He looked confused, and then noticed the smile that had crept to her face. 

“May I?” he asked, tentatively.

“You certainly may.”

Remus took a step towards her, closing the distance between them, and then dipped his head. Orla met him halfway, leaning forwards and pressing her lips to his, feeling the soft tickle of his short beard and moustache. He stroked her hair as he kissed her, white-blonde waves that she had worn loose and was spilling down her black robe. He was utterly gentle, and his hands felt large and capable. 

She ran her hands down his broad chest, allowing her fingers to slip between the opening of his robe, and felt the hair on his chest as she explored. 

“Orla,” he groaned, pulling back from the kiss. “It has been a long time for me, and I am a great deal older than you. This may not be … quite what you expect.”

“I’m not expecting anything,” she whispered, pushing her other hand beneath his robe. “This is brand new, between us both. Do what you would like to.” 

Her words must have released something inside him, for he reached forward and unfastened the clasp on her robe with one smooth movement, allowing it to drop to the forest floor that he had conjured, before looking upon her nakedness with approval, and desire. Lupin reached out his hands and touched her shoulders, trailing them down her front, over her breasts and nipples, and down to her stomach, making her gasp. 

Taking her around her the waist, he helped her sink to the floor, onto her discarded cloak, upon which he must have cast some kind of cushioning charm, for it felt supportive and comfortable, and then moved on top of her, unfastening the clasp of his own cloak so it was completely covering them both. They were enveloped between their own magical robes. 

Directly above her, she could feel his bare erection pressing against her mound. He stroked her face, slipping his arm behind her head. 

“You are a beautiful girl, inside and out,” he told her. “I shall endeavour to be worthy of you.”

Orla felt Remus lower his other hand and guide himself inside her, feeling full as he pushed his way in, slowly and carefully. For a moment, they gazed at one another, seemingly both in the same disbelief that they were actually doing this. Finally, he began to move, wonderfully, inside her. 

“You may have asked me to help you, Orla,” he murmured. “You may have asked me to save you. But I think … I think, you may have just saved me, in return.”

As they coupled in their own private forest glade, moving together under a magical cloak beneath the white glow of the half-moon, neither of them noticed their marriage certificate roll itself up and dissipate, returning itself to the Ministry archives as irrefutable proof of a fully-consummated bond.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “From the Dark Lord? Of course not, Snape. As I said in my initial speech as Minister, I have been given his express permission to implement whatever new laws and regimes I see fit. He trusts me implicitly."
> 
> The Dark Lord doesn’t trust anyone, you stupid bitch, Severus thought.

They had returned to Snape’s office after their walk around the school grounds, to find the Ministry-embossed scroll floating ominously above his desk. He’d snatched it up, cracking open the wax seal with an impatient twist of his hands, and held out the letter so they could both read it together. 

It was from the office of Minister Umbridge, requesting that he attend the Ministry the following morning for a meeting with her regarding the changes to the educational arrangements for September.

“What changes?” he muttered, reading the missive again to be sure of the time. 

“You don’t know?” she asked.

“No idea. I have heard nothing of any proposed changes, from either the Ministry, or from the Dark Lord.”

“That is worrying, then.”

“Not necessarily. I shall go to the meeting tomorrow, and hear for myself. No doubt I shall need to call an Order meeting afterwards, whether the changes are good or bad.”

Hermione sighed. They’d had such a pleasant afternoon, alone in the protective environs of the warded Hogwarts grounds, simply spending time together, out of reach of those who would do her harm. The summer weather was hot and sunny, and she’d even forgone her shoes, enjoying the feel of the long grass beneath her bare feet. 

Professor Snape had shown her the scorched patch of grass where he had obliterated the remains of the Horcruxes that he’d stolen from Voldemort’s vault at Gringotts. It was huge, at least twenty feet long, yet he’d told her the Fiendfyre had burned for less than ten seconds. No wonder that Crabbe hadn’t been able to control the Fiendfyre he’d conjured in the Room of Requirement, if a powerful wizard like Snape caused damage of this magnitude. The stupid idiot had killed himself, and very nearly the rest of them, too. 

A loud shout of her name in a familiar voice had her jerking her head up in happy surprise.

“Hagrid!” she yelled, breaking out into a run and sprinting towards the gamekeeper’s hut that her friend had just left. 

She leapt into his arms and allowed him to lift her clean off the floor. 

“Oh, Hagrid!” she wept, not able to stop the tears of relief at his safety from flowing. 

“Oh, ‘Ermione,” he replied, setting her back on the floor and wiping the huge tears that were dropping like rainfall from his own eyes. “Yer safe. Perfesser Snape ‘ere said you was safe, and here yer are!”

He hugged her again, and she felt great joy at being wrapped in his huge, if not somewhat smelly, embrace. He apologised for not inviting them in for tea, explaining that he was still trying to straighten his hut after months of absence. Remembering Hagrid’s dreadful tea with a smile, Hermione was more than glad to pass a pleasant hour outside, hearing of his adventures living in the forest, which he seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed. 

“It will be a different story in the cold of winter, Rubeus,” Snape warned, his tired face etched with concern. “During the summer is the only time I can allow you back onto Hogwarts grounds when you are not at risk of detection.”

“I know that, Perfesser. But you Order folks, you’ll think of summat before then, wont’cha?”

“That is the plan,” the headmaster replied, his face neutral so as not to give Hagrid any false hopes. 

Hermione left Hagrid with more hugs, and a promise to visit again very soon, and began to walk up the hill towards the school, past the scorch mark, and Snape surprised her by reaching for her hand. This was not something they had done before, simply walked out of doors, holding hands. It was very strange, but also rather nice. It smacked of normality, rather than an action demanded by the compulsion curse. 

When they reached the top of the hill, he stopped, turning around to look down upon the grounds. The view, as always, was breathtaking, although today Hermione felt something different, a pressing question to ask. 

“They’re all buried here, aren’t they?” she asked, looking at him in profile as he gazed out over the grounds. “All those who died in the battle?”

“They are,” he confirmed, after a pause. “They are all here. Light and Dark alike. This ground, these lawns, are their final resting place.”

Tears began to spill from her eyes again as her mind filled with thoughts of Harry, of Ron, of all her beloved Weasleys, of Neville, and Tonks, and Colin … the list went on and on. She felt Snape put his arm around her shoulders, providing quiet but tangible support. 

There were no words to say. 

-xxx-

Severus persuaded her to stay for dinner, and for another night, and since she was set upon giving Lupin and the Malfoy girl their space, she agreed. 

They dropped into bed at an early hour, emotionally exhausted, but although they were naked, they simply draped their bodies around each other, their heartbeats slowing into sleep almost immediately. She was not compelled, the amount of times they had made love had seen to that, probably for a couple of days, at least. She was simply gaining comfort from the proximity of his body, from the warmth of his touch, and that to him meant more than any screaming orgasm he could gift her with. 

It was a curious feeling, this one, this feeling of being needed, but he liked it. He liked it very much indeed. 

He woke her early in the morning, needing to return her to Grimmauld Place before he left the school, since the castle wards would only allow her to remain here whilst she was his private guest. She slipped her dress over her head, mumbling that she needed to urgently change her clothes, and he guided her to the main fireplace in his office and embraced her on the heart rug, feeling her still warm and drowsy with sleep. 

Gathering the small witch into his arms, he was reminded of why he was doing this. He was not only trying to save the wizarding world, which actually sounded ridiculous, as if he were some kind of hero, but his main fight was for a future with this girl. He wanted Voldemort dead, so that her compulsion was gone. He needed her to want him without it. 

Placing a single kiss on her hot forehead, he passed her the pot of Floo powder so that she could sleepily scoop up a handful. She tossed it into the fire, calling out for the Grimmauld Place kitchen, and he watched her as she spun through the flames to her destination. 

Once she was gone, he returned to the bedchamber and into his bathroom, setting the shower to run and stepping beneath the heavy jets of water. He had a meeting with Umbridge, and if that wasn’t unpleasant enough, being in the mere presence of the woman, he was also certain that she was about to ruin his day. What changes she and the Dark Lord would request, he knew not, but the sense of foreboding was leeching off him like a cancer. 

Once showered, shaved, dried and dressed, he stalked back into the office where he had kissed Granger goodbye less than an hour previously, entering the Floo and heading for the Ministry commuting fireplaces. It was time to do battle with the pink Pygmy Puff. 

-xxx-

Hermione walked through the empty kitchen and up the stairs of Grimmauld Place, trying to avoid the creaky ones since it seemed that everyone was still fast asleep. As she reached the middle floor, she saw that Orla’s bedroom door was wide open, and she couldn’t help peering in as she passed. Her bed was empty, and had not been slept in. 

She experienced a brief stab of panic as she wondered where on earth her friend was, before wondering something. It was irrepressibly nosey, she knew that, but she tiptoed back across the hallway to Lupin’s room, and cracked the door open, just a little. 

They were laying in bed together, fast asleep with the covers kicked off, since it had been a very hot summer night yesterday. It looked as if they were sharing a pair of his pyjamas, with Remus in the bottoms and Orla wearing the top. Teddy was nestled beneath them, fast asleep on his back, his little arms and legs spread out like a starfish, sleeping later than he normally would, probably due to his comfortable and secure position between them. 

Hermione smiled to herself at the sweet tableau they made, pulling the door shut noiselessly behind her. They must have completed a bonding ceremony last night, for there was no way Lupin would have permitted himself to be in bed with Orla, otherwise. She would offer her congratulations, later in the day. 

Carrying on to the end of the hallway, she opened the door to the master bedroom, which was her room, not that it felt like it. Grimmauld still felt very much like Sirius Black’s family home, rather than her own. Maybe that would change, in the future, once she wasn’t obliged to voluntarily imprison herself here. 

She threw off her clothes and banished them to the laundry basket, reaching for a fresh pair of pyjamas and jumping into the welcoming embrace of the bed, for sleep had not been a priority the last couple of days. Closing her eyes, Hermione could not help but think of him. 

-xxx-

Severus was ushered into the minister’s office by an unctuous little wizard, and found himself face-to-face with the horror that was Dolores Umbridge for the first time since she’d been ousted from Hogwarts by a herd of rampaging centaurs. She’d looked a lot less arrogant then, being dragged out of the forest by Albus with her hair full of twigs and clothing askew, a look of demented terror on her fat little face. 

“Ah, Snape,” she trilled, in that revoltingly girlish voice he remembered only too well. “Come in, come in. Sit down. We have much to discuss. Very exciting news!”

He walked into the all-pink office decorated with all manner of cats and kittens, frills and fripperies, feeling like a shit on a carpet in his all-black attire. If he stayed too long she’d probably charm his robes pink. He sat gingerly on a fussy little chaise in front of her desk. How had this joke of a witch ever risen to such a position of power? It was beyond him. 

“Good morning, Dolores,” he intoned, dully, his one nod towards politeness. 

“Minister Umbridge, I think you’ll find!” she simpered, and he wanted to punch her right in the face, no need for a wand. “Now, I have a written list here for you, Headmaster, of all the changes that are to be made at Hogwarts, ready for the new term to start in September.”

She passed him a thick sheaf of parchments. 

“Is this meeting not to discuss and agree changes?” he asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Discuss and agree? Oh no. There are no discussions, only the wishes and instructions of the Minister for Magic. Now, see here. Muggle-borns are still banned from the school, of course, but as from September there will also be restrictions on half-bloods, and special privileges for purebloods, who are of course, the lynchpins of our new society!”

What the actual fuck? Severus flicked through the parchments, a few choices phrases jumping out at him: 

• Purebloods to have private bedchambers.  
• Purebloods to have smaller, private classes with separate teachers.   
• Purebloods to be educated separately from half-bloods with instruction given on the importance of retaining their bloodlines when they marry, or copulate.   
• Purebloods to dine at one end of their house table, closest to the front, and half-bloods at the opposing end.   
• Half-bloods to have instruction on the crime committed by their magical parent of diluting pure magical bloodlines, to ensure these are not polluted further in their own marriages.   
• Relationships outside of marriage are not permitted for half-bloods.   
• Relationships outside of marriage are permitted for purebloods, provided their partner is of equal blood status. 

The list went on, and on … and on. 

“Do these instructions come from the Dark Lord?” he asked. 

An unpleasant look passed over her face, although it was quickly replaced by the vapid, simpering smile. 

“From the Dark Lord? Of course not, Snape. As I said in my initial speech as Minister, I have been given his express permission to implement whatever new laws and regimes I see fit. Restrictions will also be placed upon half-bloods as they leave school and enter employment, with taxation and payment scales adjusted accordingly. He trusts me implicitly.”

The Dark Lord doesn’t trust anyone, you stupid bitch, Severus thought. 

“Are you aware that the Dark Lord is himself a half-blood?” he asked. 

“Why, of course! And I also know that he despises that fact. Despises that his mother sullied her gift of magic by befouling it with Muggle genes.”

“And you believe he will be in approval of your proposals?”

“They are not proposals, Snape. These are the new reforms that will be made to the school.”

“You do realise this this will involve recruiting new staff, to teach these private classes that you indict?”

“Well, of course,” she trilled, as if she believed he was coming around to her warped way of thinking. “The Ministry of Magic will provide whatever budget you need.”

“That is very generous,” he replied, his mind whirring fast as he realised that the stupid woman may just have played right into the hands of the Order, since there was no possible way that Voldemort would have agreed to these changes, changes that reduced half-bloods to a lower status than purebloods. 

She smiled, widely, like a cat about to devour a particularly juicy mouse. 

“What is your own provenance, Minister Umbridge?” he asked, and he swore he observed her cool façade slip momentarily. 

“Why, I am a pureblood, descended from the Selwyn family, with provable magical heritage!”

“Of course,” he replied, smoothly. “And you are aware that I myself am a half-blood?”

“You are?” she said, with mock surprise. “I had no idea. Of course, your salary will have to be adjusted accordingly, for we cannot have half-bloods being paid more than purebloods, whatever their position. That would be unthinkable!”

“Indeed.”

Severus rose, taking the folder of parchments with him. Umbridge thought it was instructions, he considered it … evidence. 

“I shall take my leave, Minister, since I now have much to do with the remaining weeks of my summer holidays.”

None of these things would be what she had instructed. 

“Thank you, Snape. I look forward to visiting the school in the autumn and seeing the success you have made in implementing my plans.”

One twitch of his wand … that’s all it would take. But committing an assassination in the middle of the Ministry of Magic might not be the best idea to secure his own future outside the walls of Azkaban. 

Instead, he dampened his ire internally, and jerked his head once in farewell before leaving her office, with what he believed to be the key to destabilising the Ministry held securely in his hands, gifted to him by the Minister herself, no less. 

As he stalked through the black-tiled corridors of the Ministry, he could not help but hear the shouting that echoed along them from outside the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, and the unmistakeable screech of Lucius Malfoy berating a couple of Aurors. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he was screaming, brandishing what was now a rather battered piece of parchment in the Aurors’ faces. “How can this be allowed to happen? Find my daughter, you idiots!”

“Can I be of assistance, Lucius?” Severus asked, smoothly, as he drew alongside the trio. “What has happened?”

“This has happened!” Lucius shouted, thrusting the parchment into Severus’ hands. “I received this over breakfast! An official Ministry scroll, congratulating me on the marriage of my daughter to that fucking werewolf, Remus Lupin! I didn’t even know he was still alive, let alone interfering with teenage witches!”

Severus made no comment, but kept his expression serious as he handed the parchment back to Malfoy. 

“No stone is to be left unturned, do you hear me?” he screamed at the Aurors, who had clearly thought their ordeal was over with the arrival of Snape. “You will find my daughter, and you will bring her home to Malfoy Manor. She is carrying my grandchild, and I insist that she returns home!”

“As I’ve explained, we cannot do that, Sir,” said the older of the two Aurors. “A marriage supersedes the rights of the father, and Miss Malfoy, sorry, Madam Lupin, now belongs to her husband, not to you.”

She shouldn’t fucking belong to anyone, except herself, Severus thought, angrily disparaging the patriarchal society in which they lived. 

“The child she carries is a Malfoy, and will be brought up as such!”

Lucius’ face was flushed with incandescent rage. 

“Under wizarding law, approved and sanctioned by the Minister for Magic, the child she carries is not a Malfoy, but a Lupin, and will be registered thus, when he or she is born,” the other Auror replied, somewhat bravely in the face of such anger, Severus thought. 

“What of the werewolf laws? Why has this wretched beast not already been culled under the new legislation? Why is he alive and at liberty to rape and pillage the daughter of a respectable pureblood family?”

“You will need to speak to the section in charge of the werewolf cull, Sir.”

“I will! Right now!”

Lucius pushed open the door of the Auror office with a loud bang, and could be heard shouting for the ‘werewolf department’ as he entered. At present, Malfoy was impotent, but Severus had no doubt that his pureblood status and extreme wealth would soon find him outside of the law and on the Lupins’ trail. 

He needed to call an urgent meeting of the Order. 

-xxx-

Orla awoke, the small hand of Teddy batting her on the face and chuckling adorably. 

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she whispered, not wanting to wake Remus. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you,” her new husband rumbled, his voice rusty with sleep. 

“I didn’t mean you,” she giggled. “I was talking to your son.”

“Don’t save all the compliments for him,” he continued, turning to face them and placing a bare arm over them both. “I like being a sweetheart too.”

She laughed loudly. 

“Let’s give it some time, we’ve only just spent our first night together.”

“And we are bonded,” he reminded her. “I am happy, Orla. Happier than I expected to be. Thank you for staying with me last night.”

She cast her mind back. They had consummated their bond, outside in the conjured forest glade in the back garden. Afterwards he had remained above her, his eyes searching her face, both breathing heavily. His lovemaking had been passionate yet tender, respectful yet erotic. He certainly knew how to move, and she felt a slight ache this morning from the sheer girth of his equipment, he was much larger than Conor or Draco, who had both been little more than boys, and especially larger than Yaxley, the thought of whom made her want to throw up. 

He had remained in the garden to remove all traces of the forest, and she had gone upstairs, dithering on the landing as to which room she should go in. Was the sex just a one-time thing, a necessary evil to make their binding legal, or was it more? She supposed she should be guided by him, and headed for her own room, but left the door open. 

Remus had followed her upstairs, and she’d heard him go to his own room and close the door behind him. Oh. That was her answer, she supposed, but … she’d just … felt something more. She lay on her bed, confused, still clad only in her cloak she’d worn for the ceremony. 

Less than ten minutes later, he’d arrived in her doorway, his large body filling the doorframe, wearing a pair of faded scarlet pyjama trousers, and holding the matching top in his hands. His chest was bare, and she enjoyed the sight of his thick, dark-blond chest hair, and his hairy forearms. Remus Lupin really was a grown man. 

“I shall not ask again, for I may have read the situation badly wrong,” he’d begun, “but since we are bonded, I would love for you to join me - join Teddy and I in our room, rather than sleep alone.”

“In your bed?” she asked.

“Only if you want to.”

He looked so forlorn, so unsure, that Orla only took a few seconds to jump off the bed, throw off her cloak and take the pyjama top from his hands, pulling it over her head. 

“Look,” she said, gesturing at their sharing of the clothing, “we are like two halves of a whole, now.”

“I hope so,” he’d replied, sincerely, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, where he’d kissed it, his moustache tickling her skin. 

Keeping hold, he led her across the hallway to his own room, where Teddy slept peacefully in his cradle, and on into the large bed, folding her into the covers and sliding in after her. 

“It has been so very long since I had the comfort of someone else in my bed at night,” he whispered. “Apart from Teddy, who is a bit of a bed-hogger, I must warn you.”

“That’s ok,” she whispered back, keen not to wake the baby just yet, and edged her face towards his, across the pillows. 

He looked surprised, but as their lips met he put his arm around her, lifting the back of the t-shirt and stroking her lower back. They were on their own, now. Their binding was legally consummated. Anything they did from this point on was because they wanted to. 

Remus might be grieving, emotionally needy, sad and lonely, but all this masked a lionhearted Gryffindor passion that she had seen a glimpse of in the garden. As he returned her kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth and his fingers between her legs, it was clear he wanted to reawaken that part of him he had buried deep inside. She had closed her eyes, and allowed her new husband to pleasure her. 

In the dim sunlight of early morning, Orla had heard Teddy whimper and begin to fuss in his cradle, so she had slipped out of bed, quickly changed his nappy with minimal fanfare, and then brought the baby into bed with them, where the child fell asleep again almost immediately, clearly feeling the proximity and familiar smell of his daddy, and was comforted by it. 

Orla breathed in Teddy’s delicious baby smell, mixed with the aroma of sex and the pure testosterone of his father, and closed her eyes, feeling completely comfortable and at peace for the first time in a very, very long time. 

Later that day, Hermione caught them snogging in the kitchen. 

“You completed your bonding then, I take it?” she asked. 

“We did,” Remus advised her. 

“Well, congratulations. Sincerely. With everything that we have all suffered, to find a bit of happiness is a blessing. I am so happy for you both.”

Remus hugged her tightly, thanking her, and reassuring her that they were taking things slowly and getting to know one another, but yes, they were very happy. 

“It didn’t feel that slow last night,” she whispered in his ear, when Hermione’s back was turned. 

“Wait until just before the full moon,” he warned, his eyes full of mischief. “I tend to go somewhat feral at that time of the month.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” she muttered, running a quick hand over his bottom, enjoying the small flash of desire she noticed in his eyes. 

Their level of intimacy between them had skyrocketed in the last twenty-four hours. It was the war, she supposed. The fear of imminent death forced people to deepen relationships quicker than they otherwise might have, should the world not be so precarious.

Not that she minded. Remus John Lupin was an unexpected pleasure. 

-xxx-

“Your binding is absolute,” Kingsley announced, as all members of the Order sat around the Grimmauld Place table. “I have been down to the Ministry Archives, and your certificate is filed there. It cannot be destroyed, superseded or contested. May I offer you both my congratulations.”

The usually-serious Auror smiled, showing a row of huge white teeth. Remus put his arm around Orla and kissed her cheek, proud of his new wife, and desperate to protect her. 

“I would have done it,” grumbled Seamus, “but congratulations all the same.”

“However,” Kingsley continued, interrupting him, “Audrina has additional news.” 

He turned to his wife, who clearly had something urgent to impart, most likely from St Mungo’s.

“Remus, Orla,” she began, gently. “Corban Yaxley passed away this morning, from complications arising from the injuries caused to him from the attack by Lucius Malfoy. He had never really regained consciousness, and it is likely his brain was severely damaged.”

The silence around the table at Audrina’s information was absolute, as if everyone knew it was Orla’s right to speak first, and finally, she did.

“That evil bastard was never Hope’s father,” she replied, her Irish accent more pronounced in her quiet anger. “I’m glad he is dead, he cannot ever hurt anyone else the way he hurt me, and Hope will never have to know him. Remus is her father.”

He held her tighter, pressing his lips to her temple. She was brave and strong, just like Dora had been. He loved them both. 

“I am proud to be Hope’s father,” he told everyone. “For those who do not know, Hope Lupin was my mother’s name, and Orla chose the name independent of knowing this. We hope to be allowed to raise our family in peace.”

There was a murmur of approval that rippled around the long wooden table.

“Lucius Malfoy will be pushing hard for your arrest under the werewolf culling laws, you must be aware of this, Remus. That is the only way he can regain his daughter, and assert his rights to his granddaughter – with your death,” Kingsley told him, insistent that he understand the gravity of their situation. “He has already been successful in having more Aurors assigned to your case, that is, seeking your capture.”

“Then I’d better make sure I keep myself alive then,” he replied, with a flippancy that he did not feel. 

“No one can find you here, Lupin,” Snape reminded him. “If you stay here, and do not go seeking adventure out of some misguided desire to do something.”

“I have no intention of leaving, Severus. I have learnt from my friend’s mistakes. I do not crave adventure, I wish only for a safe and happy life with my wife and our children.”

Snape nodded, acknowledging his sincerity, but the poignant moment was interrupted by Garth choosing that moment to let out a loud fart, from his reclined position in Fleur’s arms, seated quite happily on top of her pregnancy bump. 

“Garth, mate!” exclaimed Charlie. “There’s a time and a place for everything, little man.”

“You should try having a baby,” Remus advised him. “That was nothing compared to the stinkers that Teddy lets rip with.”

“Trois mois!” Fleur exclaimed, “and ze bebe will be ‘ere.”

“Three months, for the non-French speakers among you,” Charlie advised, cheekily. 

“Will you be staying in England, Charles?” asked Minerva, seated at the far end of the table. 

“For the time being, yes. Fleur needs help and I am there to provide it. It will be my great honour to assist in raising my brother’s son.” 

Remus watched as McGonagall nodded approvingly, as she had done when he himself had claimed Hope as his own. Even though he and Charlie were both long out of school, it seemed their Head of House still felt pride in her Gryffindors’ achievements. 

“Now that all infants and dragons have been distributed,” Snape chipped in, witheringly, “I must advise you all of the new arrangements for Hogwarts, rules that denigrate half-bloods to the benefit of purebloods, and a system that is intended to leech forth into the adult world. Everyone, please read, and digest.”

He handed round pages of parchment that had been handed to him by Umbridge that afternoon, intended to be a list of his instructions. Instead, he explained, he planned to use it as a weapon to set Voldemort and the Ministry at odds with each other. Death Eaters and Ministry employees would need to pick a side, not realising that there was a third, secret side, and that was their own. Followers of Voldemort or supporters of Umbridge were not invited. They would find the silent majority that wanted to be free of both, and stage a coup from the inside out. 

By the end of the evening, plans were in place for Severus to incite the anger of the Dark Lord, a brave feat in itself; showing Voldemort that Umbridge planned to eventually eradicate those of half-blood genes, including himself. Kingsley would enlist those supporters of the Light that worked in the Ministry, of which there was a great number that he had been covertly gathering. Audrina had identified those within St Mungo’s who would bring down the Death Eater ward, if and when a confrontation took place. 

How helpful, the Healer had noted, to have all the Death Eaters handily grouped together in one place, where they could be easily captured with no risk to the other patients that were spread throughout the hospital. The Death Eaters privilege of a private ward would be their downfall, within the wall of St Mungo’s. 

Fleur agreed that she would work with Flitwick, and they had already discussed how to use complicated and undetectable charms to seal the vaults of the Death Eaters and Voldemort’s supporters within Gringotts, so that even if they arrived to make a withdrawal, the locks on the individual vaults would not recognise their owners, so Aurors could legitimately be summoned to arrest those witches or wizards for attempted theft. 

And himself?

He would stay at Grimmauld Place, keeping himself well clear of the werewolf cull, and providing a central point of contact for the Order. 

Remus just wanted to be a husband and father. As the sole surviving Marauder, he had no wish to be a hero.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly, the fierce burn of Voldemort’s reply hit his arm only a few minutes later. His request for an audience had been accepted. Now all he needed to do was play this right.

Orla opened the curtains the following morning, and let out a shriek of fright that woke not only the baby, but his father, too. Carrying Teddy, Remus quickly joined her at the window where she stood, motionless, hand over her mouth in fear, as if to stop further sound from escaping. 

“Look,” she hissed, urgently, pointing down into the central green square, filled with trees, bushes and park benches, that the houses of Grimmauld Place were built around. “There is no way they’re Muggles, and I don’t like the look of them.”

Remus craned around her to see what she was pointing at. 

A group of half-a-dozen men, clearly wizards, were milling around in front of the house, from just across the road, so it looked as if they were merely loitering by the park square. They were looking intently at the seam that joined the walls between the Muggle dwellings of number eleven and number thirteen. 

“They are Aurors,” he explained, “and they either know or suspect that we are here. Twelve Grimmauld Place is registered as Hermione’s address, but because of the Fidelius Charm it cannot be discovered. However, there is nothing to stop anyone from waiting near where they believe the dwelling to be, in case one of the presumed residents step outside the wards of the charm.”

“Who are they seeking?” she asked, not reassured by this information. 

“I should imagine that their primary target is Hermione, since this is her property, but I would also hazard a guess that the Aurors believe you and I are here also, especially with the timing being a day after our marriage was registered.”

“Why would they think that?”

“Because you and Hermione were in a similar situation at Hogwarts, and both of you absconded within a few weeks of each other. Therefore the two of you are known to have a connection, and since our bonding certificate is now filed at the Ministry, I suspect they believe, quite correctly, that I am in hiding here too.”

The news wasn’t getting any better. Orla stroked Teddy’s chubby little leg, absentmindedly, and Remus put his arm around her shoulders. 

“What can we do now? I’m scared, Remus.”

“We continue to do exactly what we have been. Our security here has not been compromised, and we are as safe as we ever were, provided we remain within the charmed wards of the house. We cannot be detected, even as they appear to be staring right at us, they cannot see that number twelve exists at all.”

“This is horrible.”

“I know,” he agreed, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Don’t stand here looking at them, they will only make us nervous. We’re all awake now, I say we head to the kitchen and feed this young man, and then make us both a good, strong cup of tea.”

Orla smiled weakly in agreement, and allowed her new husband to lead her out of the bedroom and onto the staircase. They creaked downstairs and into the kitchen, where she headed straight to the opposite end of the room to pour a kettle of fresh water and put it on the stove to boil. 

She never got that far. 

As Orla filled the kettle from the tap, she gazed absently from the large window that looked out over the Grimmauld Place garden, and an unexpected and most unwelcome sight met her eyes. It was her father, standing motionless, his ice-blue eyes staring, but unseeing, in the long, narrow alleyway that ran along the back of all the houses on this side of the square. 

Frozen with fear and unable to scream, she backed away from the window in horror, the tin kettle hanging uselessly from her hand. Remus saw her reaction, so deposited Teddy quickly but safely in the kitchen cradle and rushed to her side, relieving her of the kettle before it clattered to the floor. 

“What? Orla, what has happened? Tell me.”

She lifted a hand and pointed to where Lucius Malfoy stood, staring in the window as if he were looking straight at her, his white-blond hair glinting in the morning sunshine, and his long, snake-topped cane malevolently tapping the pavement beneath his feet. 

“He is here,” she replied, eyes wide with fear.

“Malfoy,” Remus confirmed, holding the girl tightly against him and feeling her tremble. “He has come to look for you himself.”

“I won’t go with him,” Orla said, defiantly. “I don’t want to be his daughter, and don’t want him having anything to do with Hope.”

“He cannot see you. He does not know where you are, he only suspects. If we do not step outside the Fidelius charm he can never find you. He has come to frighten you.”

“He’s doing a bloody good job!”

“What’s happening?” Hermione called, having entered the kitchen, looking sleepy. 

“We have been discovered,” Remus told her, simply.

“What?”

“There are Aurors outside the front of the house, hanging around the square, and Orla has just had the pleasure of finding her father out the back.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Hermione exclaimed, hurrying to the kitchen window as if to ascertain that Lucius Malfoy was, in fact, lurking outside her invisible back garden. 

“Remus has told me that they can’t get to us as long as we stay inside,” Orla added. “That’s right, isn’t it, Hermione?”

She felt sick and scared and needed the reassurance. If Remus was found, he would be instantly put to death under the werewolf cull, and goodness knows what would happen to little Teddy. The most she had to fear was being taken to a plush manor and forced to live there – their situations were barely comparable. Not for the first time since she’d heard the news, Orla breathed a sigh of relief that the biological father of her unborn child was dead. Lucius could think that Hope was Draco’s daughter all he wanted, but that could never be proved, now. 

“When Harry, Ron and I were hiding out here, at the beginning of seventh year when we didn’t return to school, there were all manner of Death Eaters and corrupt Aurors loitering outside. They seemed to have a schedule so that the post was always manned. The Fidelius charm held, though, and we used to regularly come and go using the front step, Apparating under Harry’s invisibility cloak. I promise you, we are quite safe here.”

Hermione’s calm answer provided Orla with a small amount of reassurance. After all, if she and Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had used the front door and still not been discovered, that had to mean they were all safe in here now, surely?

“Ok,” she replied, trying to gather some courage that she did not feel. “We’ll just stay here. We won’t go anywhere. It will all be alright.”

“You must leave for a short period, Orla,” Remus reminded her, “for the full moon is tonight, and you both must go to Shell Cottage again, taking Teddy with you.”

“No! Why can’t we stay here? I can look after Teddy. Please, Remus, I don’t want to leave you.”

“You know that cannot happen. If I were to detect your scent whilst transformed … I cannot bear to think about what I might do to either of you, or to my son.”

“I wanted to brew Wolfsbane!” she shot back, aware that she was sounding a little petulant. “I wanted to help you, even before I married you!”

“I know you did, Orla. If and when all this is over, I am sure that we can arrange for Severus or Professor Slughorn to teach you how to brew it,” he replied. “However, there have been more important things for Severus to do than teach you how to relieve my aggravating symptoms.”

“It’s more than just an aggravating symptom, Remus,” she observed, slightly narked at his answer. 

He sighed, and pulled her back against him where she had worked herself free from his arms in irritation. 

“We will address that in the future,” he answered, his expression resigned and absolute. “For now, we sit tight. Severus will be requesting an audience with Voldemort today, Hermione, will he not?”

“That’s the plan,” Hermione replied, looking at them both with concern. “After that, what happens will be anyone’s guess.”

-xxx-

Severus sat back in his office chair, terrified but exhilarated after his private meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt. His Order colleague had paid him a personal visit exceptionally early that morning, for an additional plan had come to him during the night. Kingsley wanted to attempt to provoke Dolores Umbridge into making him Deputy Minister for Magic. 

Minister Umbridge currently had no deputy, suggesting either great narcissism, in that she believed she did not need one, or else she did not trust anyone enough to give them the role. Kingsley needed to get himself promoted to deputy, as if the remainder of their plans were successful, Shacklebolt would then be ideally placed to protect and rebuild the Ministry from the inside. The future was always at the forefront of their plans. 

Between them, they had concocted an audacious plan, where Kingsley would attempt to persuade Umbridge that Snape was about to double-cross her to Voldemort. He would explain that he, Kingsley, had received covert information that Snape planned to reveal before the Dark Lord her reforms that had been passed without Voldemort’s express permission. 

This would run concurrent with Severus’ attempt to do exactly that. 

If they were both successful, it would set Umbridge and Voldemort in direct opposition, leaving the way clear for a takeover whilst they were both preoccupied. The Dark Lord could be killed by anyone’s wand, and once they had managed to provoke him out into the open, with plenty of witnesses to observe, Snape would cast the Avada Kedavra himself, if needs be, and if no one else did it first. That bastard had to die, and if Umbridge went down too … well, he doubted anyone would cry at her funeral. 

Severus was now awaiting Shacklebolt’s report on the outcome of the meeting. Once received, he would need to get going, immediately, for there would be no time to lose. 

The lynx Patronus arrived in his office almost two hours later, speaking with Shacklebolt’s deep, distinctive voice. 

“It is done. I have been made Deputy. I shall advise her to secure the Ministry after the summons, if this happens as you predict.”

Severus did not reply. It would be madness to send his own Patronus bouncing into the Ministry of Magic, seeking Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had just advised Umbridge that Severus Snape was a traitor. No, there was no reply to send. It was time to put his side of the plan into action and hope for the best. 

Attempting to not think too deeply on the good sense of what he was doing, Severus pressed the tip of his wand to the Dark Mark branded on his left arm, sending a request for an audience with Voldemort through the Protean connection. He had always assumed it would be a cold day in hell if he ever voluntarily entered the company of the Dark Lord, but it seemed that day had finally come. 

The connection made, Snape had no choice but to then pace his office until a reply was received. No doubt Riddle would keep him waiting for having the audacity to contact him first. 

Surprisingly, the fierce burn of Voldemort’s reply hit his arm only a few minutes later. His request for an audience had been accepted. Now all he needed to do was play this right. He twisted into his Apparition. 

-xxx-

“Severus,” he greeted, not rising from his armchair before the fire.

“My Lord,” he answered, quickly crossing the drawing room of the Riddle House and kneeling at Voldemort’s feet, hoping that soon he would not be forced to bow and scrape before this bastard dictator. 

“It is most unusual, Severus, for you to request an audience with me. Lord Voldemort is concerned. I trust that all is well?”

Snape couldn’t help noticing that the Dark Lord looked thinner and paler than ever, the white skin on his face had become so translucent that every vein was clearly visible, pulsing blue under the papery-thin epidermis. The fire in the huge grate was set to roaring, despite the warm August weather, suggesting that Voldemort was chilled to the bone and needed the extra heat. Wondering if the loss of his final Horcrux had led to this deterioration of his physical condition and if there was a chance he might just die, Severus pressed ahead with his reason for visiting. 

“Thank you, My Lord, I am quite well. But I requested a moment of your valuable time today for I have received instructions that concern me. I hope that I do not speak out of turn, for of course I shall obey any orders of which you approve, but what I have been given … well, I am unsure that these commands have been explicitly sanctioned by you.”

Voldemort’s slit-eyes narrowed even further. 

“Continue,” he commanded, with a cursory wave of his long-fingernailed hand. 

“Minister Umbridge has presented me with written instructions of changes that are to be implemented at Hogwarts, effective from the start of the new term, which commences on the first of next month. These changes have given me some cause for concern, as whilst they have specified some new privileges and considerations for purebloods, this is to the denigration of the half-blood students.”

“Denigration? What do you mean?”

“Minister Umbridge is keen to reduce the status of half-bloods, starting at the school, but she has given me clear indication that this is to filter through into adult society through reduced salaries, higher taxation, marriage restrictions and prejudice in employment opportunities. For example, I have been advised that my headmaster’s salary will be reduced due to my half-blood status, and that my tax deductions will become higher.”

“You must be mistaken, Severus. The Minister would not pass such legislation. Dolores Umbridge has been given the placating gift of a little power to invoke only simple, meaningless laws that do not concern me, such as her werewolf cull and her amusing little crusade against half-breeds, which seem to offend her greatly.”

They certainly concern those people who are affected by her ‘little crusades’, you selfish bastard, Severus thought. 

“With respect, My Lord, the laws reducing the status of half-bloods have already been passed. The Minister has passed me the documentation pertaining to what new procedures I must implement at the school, and she personally advised that she has explicit permission from you to run the country as she sees fit, that is, without prior consultation.”

Watching Voldemort’s stark-white face flush with colour, Severus hoped he hadn’t gone too far. But this was do-or-die. He had no choice but to hang this bitch out to dry, to force her into direct opposition with the Dark Lord, so that Kingsley could seize control whilst her back was turned and her attentions elsewhere. 

“Let me see,” he demanded, holding out his bony arm for the paperwork.

Severus passed him the entire package of parchments, summoning a table to stand directly in front of his chair, so he could spread the instructions out and examine them in comfort. 

“Sit, Severus,” Voldemort ordered, after reading the first page, it appeared with some difficulty, and Snape wondered if his eyes were failing him. 

There was silence for a very long time, as the Dark Lord perused every single page of the directions that Umbridge had given him of the changes that he must make at Hogwarts. Voldemort made no sound, no gesture; gave no inkling of how the information was being received. For all Severus knew, it had all been pre-agreed between Riddle and Umbridge and he was about to be on the receiving end of a Crucio for having the gall to question anything.

Finally, Voldemort looked up, his eyes looking redder and bloodier than ever, possibly caused by the extensive reading. 

“You are not to implement a single one of these plans, Severus,” he said, devastatingly quietly, tossing the entire pile of parchments into the fire, where they hissed and spat as they were devoured by the flames. 

Bingo. 

“Thank you, My Lord.”

“Our new Minister, whilst not being the puppet that Pius Thicknesse was, has forgotten to whom she answers. Let us remind her, shall we?”

Severus curled his mouth into a wicked smile.

“Indeed, My Lord. It would not do for any of us to abuse our privileged positions as your loyal servants.”

Voldemort cast the incantation that would cause the summons to burn through all the Dark Marks of those who bore them, Snape’s own included, and Severus felt the familiar pain burrow into his left forearm like a vicious foreign body, intent on causing damage. This time, however, for the first time, he did not feel fear from the summons. He felt hope. 

As soon as the Death Eaters left the Ministry, Kingsley would leap into action, securing the entire building against their return, hopefully convincing Umbridge that was the only sensible thing to do. 

It was not long before the Death Eaters began to arrive, many of them clearly fresh from working at the Ministry, their formal work robes pristine, apologising for their lack of Death Eater attire, which Voldemort unusually brushed away with no retribution.

“Loyal followers!” he announced, once everyone was accounted for. “It seems that we have a bad apple in our barrel! Dolores Umbridge has overstepped her remit, and has forgotten to whom she owes everything. Let us converge upon the Ministry, and remind her, shall we?”

Questions were being murmured around the room in what began as a ripple, but became a crescendo, with no one actually brave enough to ask Voldemort exactly what he wanted them to do. 

“In case my meaning was unclear,” he announced, tetchily, “we shall go and retake control of my Ministry, by force, if necessary. I shall place myself in the role of Minister, since it seems that no one can be trusted!”

Rodolphus Lestrange, Voldemort’s supposed second-in-command, looked miserable. It seemed he had finally realised that he had the title, but none of the power. 

“Excuse me, My Lord,” Travers began, unctuously, “but if Umbridge is overthrown, her deputy will automatically be given the position of Minister.”

“She has no deputy!” Voldemort cried. “I forbade her from appointing one.”

A few of the Death Eaters shook their heads. 

“Why are you shaking your heads? Speak, I command you!”

The Dark Lord looked furious, and pointed his wand at Travers to continue, who looked as if he wished he’d not bothered to open his mouth. 

“She has appointed a Deputy just this morning, My Lord. A Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

“Who is this ... Shacklebolt?” Voldemort spat. 

“He was the Head of the Auror Office,” Travers advised. “Before this morning.”

“Head of the Auror Office? But was it not arranged that all departments would have a Death Eater in the top role?”

“It was, My Lord,” added Selwyn, “and that role, as Head of the MLE, was Yaxley’s, before he was put in the hospital.”

All eyes swung to Lucius Malfoy, for every Death Eater had seen his now-fatal attack on Yaxley. Lucius must be drugged up to the eyeballs on opiates again, for he seemed quite unconcerned that he had killed one of their own. 

“The role was left open, since it was hoped that Yaxley would return, and during that time Minister Umbridge appointed Shacklebolt to the role,” Selwyn finished. 

“And now this Shacklebolt has risen to Deputy Minister?”

There were nods from all those who worked within the Ministry of Magic. 

“Something is going on, here,” hissed Riddle. “I know nothing of this wizard, and yet he has been able to rise to the second-highest position in my administration? I am most severely displeased. Let us travel as one to the Ministry, and retain my ultimate control, for these small problems, these little sparks of dissent – these could become large fires that will burn all that we have worked for.”

Severus metaphorically crossed his fingers and hoped that the Dark Lord had spouted off for long enough to give Kingsley the chance to seal the Ministry again him. As the snake-faced ghoul commanded everyone to Apparate together to inside the Ministry atrium, nothing happened. 

The look on Voldemort’s face was worth a thousand Galleons, and Severus’ heart leapt with relief and plummeted in fear at the same time, which was fucking weird. 

“What is this?” Riddle demanded. “Can no one Apparate to the Ministry?”

The Death Eaters who appeared to be trying again shook their heads. Selwyn and Travers ran to the fireplace and threw in handfuls of Floo powder, calling out for their own offices, for the commuting fireplaces, anything. Nothing appeared to work. It seemed that Kingsley had been successful in persuading Umbridge that to keep her job, and most likely her life, that Lord Voldemort and all bearers of the Dark Mark needed to be prevented from entering the Ministry. 

They could go nowhere. It would be no use Apparating to outside the Ministry, since a group of witches and wizards, including one with snake eyes and no nose, would incite too much attention in Muggle London. Not even Voldemort was that ignorant. 

He turned to Severus, red eyes full of fury, silken black robes swinging around his thin body. 

“Lure the Minister out of her hiding place, Severus,” he commanded. “Request her presence at Hogwarts – hers, and all those lackeys that she surrounds herself with. Bring her out in the open, and I shall destroy her for what she has attempted to do.”

“I shall My Lord,” Snape replied, taking his leave and Apparating back to his office, wondering how the fuck he was going to entice Dolores Umbridge anywhere, given that she now believed he was a traitor to her regime. 

It could not be revealed that he and Kingsley were working in collusion with one another, they would have to think, and fast. With the Ministry sealed, there was no time to waste. 

-xxx-

Hermione and Orla were in Shell Cottage, the latter having to be pulled, sobbing, from her new husband, as he remained in Grimmauld Place to voluntarily lock himself in his own prison, within a prison, so as not cause harm to anyone else, nor be discovered himself. 

The Aurors were still outside the front of the house, next to the square, different ones from this morning, although Lucius Malfoy seemed have given up his stalking of the alleyway to the rear of the property, which made Orla feel slightly better. 

Remus had packed Teddy’s bag and albeit shoved Orla through the Floo with it, leaving Hermione to follow with Teddy, for she was in a better emotional state to carry the baby. 

Hermione had felt terrible leaving Remus, he looked haggard and gaunt, his skin marred with a grey, waxy pallor and a haunted look in his eyes as the time for his monthly transformation drew near. The only thing she could do for him was to carry his son, everything else Lupin had to bear himself. 

Charlie was cooking, and Orla was seated on the floor of the living room with Teddy on her lap, being entertained by Garth, who was making noisy puffs from his nostrils and causing the baby to chuckle every time. The dramatic little dragon was enjoying every bit of the attention, not even distracted by the smell of cooking meat. 

Hermione was sitting on the window seat, looking out over the deserted beach, when she was startled by the sight and sound of Apparition, right in front of her. Two people landed in a crumpled heap on the sand, and she shouted for Charlie. 

Together they ran to the door of the cottage, wands drawn. As they opened it cautiously, they were amazed to see Fleur and Professor Flitwick getting to their feet, breathing heavily from their bumpy landing. Fleur’s hair was its usual bright-blonde, not the brown she changed it to every day for work. She also had a large gash down the side of her face that was dripping blood. 

“Oh, Charlie!” Fleur exclaimed, and without even stopping to make any further checks, he rushed forwards and took her in his arms, lifting her up as if she were not six months pregnant, but instead weighed nothing more than perhaps Garth did.   
Hermione helped Flitwick to his feet, although the diminutive professor was insisting that he was alright, and not hurt. 

“Get them into the cottage, Hermione, quickly!” shouted Charlie, urging everyone inside the reaches of the protective Fidelius charm. 

Once inside with the door firmly locked, Charlie laid Fleur on the sofa, siphoning the blood from her head and summoning a wet cloth to press against the remaining wound. Garth was flapping around, clearly distressed that his favourite Fleur was injured, getting in Charlie’s way as he tried to attend to her. Orla picked up Teddy and retreated to a squashy armchair on the other side of the room, trying to call Garth out of the way as she did so, and Hermione offered the other sofa to Flitwick, fetching him a cup of strong tea to calm his nerves. 

Charlie held his hand to Fleur’s abdomen, using techniques he’d learned from assisting pregnant dragons at the sanctuary, to ascertain that her baby was well, the heart was beating, and the pregnancy was not in danger of miscarrying. Even so, Charlie insisted that she lay quietly, her legs raised on the arm of the sofa. 

“What happened?” he asked Flitwick, who was sitting opposite. 

“Voldemort,” Filius replied. “He came to Gringotts, accompanied by a few Death Eaters. He requested access to his vault, which of course was empty. His rage was incandescent, and he was accusing the goblins of being thieves, wanting to know where the items were that had been in his vault.

Then, the Death Eaters must have begun to fear for their own valuables, for they started to request access to their own vaults. Of course, they could not, for I had placed charms on each vault belonging to known Death Eaters, and chaos ensued from that point. The goblins took great offence at being called thieves, and began to close down the counters so that no customers could open their vaults. 

Lord Voldemort then cast a terrible spell, a vicious cleansing charm that works in a similar way to the Thieves’ Downfall, in that it removes all covert enchantments. This would have released the vaults I charmed, but of course, the goblins had shut the bank down so no one knew this. The only thing of note that the spell caused was to remove the charm that Madam Weasley here has on her hair, revealing the bright blonde colour that denotes her Veela heritage.”

“Zere was nothing we could do run, once I ‘ad been seen by ze Death Eaters.” Fleur chipped in weakly, from her prone position on the sofa. “Zey remembered me from ze battle at ‘Ogwarts. I grabbed ‘old of Feelius ‘and, ‘olding it tightly, Apparated ‘ere to ze cottage.”

“I think it’s safe to say that you just lost your jobs at the bank then?” smirked Charlie, although the expression did not reach his eyes, which remained concerned and serious. 

“Did Voldemort say anything about Professor Snape being the last person to enter his private vault?” Hermione asked, terrified. 

“He did not seem to make that connection, at least, not out loud,” Flitwick replied. “It was the goblins he accused of the theft, not Severus.”

“No doubt he will remember soon enough,” she grimaced. 

“No doubt,” the half-goblin agreed. 

“It’s a full house tonight then,” said Charlie. “Filius, you take my room, since Fleur and I share the master bedroom now, and the girls will take the room with two single beds, same as they did last time. It’s only for a short time, until Lupin has finished playing wolf, then we will have much more space to house everyone at Grimmauld.”

Filius smiled knowingly, for he had worked with Remus for a year and knew him well. The former Charms professor thanked Charlie and Fleur profusely for offering him shelter. 

“No problem,” Charlie replied, winking. “We’re a refuge for half-breeds here; Veelas, werewolves, Metamorphmagi – yes, I’m looking at you, Ted, even a dwarf dragon. I may retrain as a zoo keeper.”

-xxx-

Hermione lay in bed, listening to Orla’s light breathing and the baby snuffles of Teddy. It was way past the middle of the night, but still far from dawn. It was no good. With the worst timing ever, the compulsion had come upon her with an unstoppable force. It was worse than the time in the Gryffindor common room when she’d had to summon Professor Snape for urgent assistance. 

Knowing what he and Kingsley were planning to do today, and after hearing from Flitwick about the chaos in the Gringotts, there surely could not be a worse time to send him a green flare through the fire and request a quick shag. How selfish would that be? So, she’d been trying to ignore it, instead. 

Over the last two hours, the pain had been getting steadily worse, a mixture of extreme arousal and intense agony that finally had her crawling to the living room to put in the Floo call. 

When his familiar face appeared in the flames after a few minutes, for he must have been in bed, she could have wept with frustrated relief. 

“I know this is the most awful time,” she began, before her sobs choked the rest of the sentence clean away. 

“Come through,” he instructed. 

“But …”

“Do not waste time, Granger. Come through now.”

Hermione took his hand, which he’d extended through the flames, and experienced the strange feeling of him yanking her forcibly through the Floo connection, where she collapsed on his hearthrug. He knelt next to her, wearing his thin dressing-gown that had fallen open a little to reveal some of his bare chest. Gods, she wanted him. She needed him. 

“You are compelled?” he asked, arching an eyebrow and correctly assessing the situation. 

“Yes,” she answered in a small voice. 

“Thank fuck for that,” he growled, turning her face towards him as he leaned forwards, forcibly taking hold of her mouth with his own, pushing his tongue hard between her lips and using it to plunder the depths of her mouth, as if she were the secret to life itself.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I believe, Severus,” Minerva said, her pointed hat wobbling dangerously. “That today we retake our school."

Severus turned the trembling girl over on to her back, laying her on the hearth rug as he pushed his desperate tongue into the deepest caverns of her mouth, his need as urgent as hers, despite no longer being under the compulsion curse. His cock hardened ridiculously fast as Granger responded to his open-mouthed kiss, feeling the arch of her body as she lurched up to touch him. 

He roughly pushed up the vest top of her pyjamas, baring her hot tits against the cool palm of his hand, grasping one and fondling it as he continued to snog her, meeting her needs, giving her what she needed. 

And what you need, Severus, you deluded bastard. 

“Please,” she gasped, pulling her mouth away from his devouring kiss with some difficulty.

The compulsion was wracking her body, he could feel it and see it. He must attend to her, for the girl needed to orgasm to release the pain. He moved his mouth from her lips to her tit, suckling deeply on the nipple that was nearest to him, as his hand ripped her tiny pyjama shorts firmly down her legs with one movement, and he felt her kick them off in frustration. 

Severus knelt up and swung her legs around him, positioning her dripping little cunt for the touch of his fingers. As he spread her, she gasped in pain, and he realised he needed to be even more gentle. Scooting back on his knees, he bowed his head to her mound and poked just the tip of his tongue between her labia, pushing it into her cleft and feeling her clitoris pulsing like a second heartbeat beneath his touch. 

He slithered the flat of his tongue around her clit in slow circles, needing to relieve her, but trying to not to hurt her, for she was so sensitive that any rough movements would cause her further pain. Severus fastened his mouth around her bud, and hummed, and the gentle vibration tipped her into her first climax, as she squeaked and began to writhe her cunt against his face. 

“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Please, there’s still more.”

Oh, I know, sweetheart, he thought, his Slytherin heart delighted, despite her predicament. 

He began to lick her harder, now that her initial sensitivity had been relieved, swirling the sharp end of his tongue from the top of her labia to the cleft of her arse, where he allowed it to flicker like a tormenting snake, watching the silky arousal fluid drip from her vaginal opening. 

Granger was panting, and cresting her second orgasm as he sat up, his fingers taking over the masturbation duties of her intoxicating little pussy. He took hold of her clitoris, pulling it upwards and twisting it, whilst tickling just below it, and her scream of bliss sent a further rush of blood to his cock, which had now burst free from the thin covering of his dressing gown, beneath which he was naked. 

“Holy fuck!” she screamed, clenching her arse cheeks as she thrust her hips up and rigid as she came, and he tormented her clit throughout her climax, despite her protests. 

Severus then let her lay on the floor for a few seconds, watching her cunt pulse open and closed in post-orgasm, and her chest heaving, regaining her breath. 

“On your knees, Granger,” he growled, once she had recovered a little. 

She obligingly turned over, her knees underneath her and assumed a position on all fours, her enticing pussy wide open for his intended invasion. 

“Teasing little witch,” he muttered, giving her arse a quick slap since it was presented so beautifully, enjoying the gasp of pleasured surprise that she let out. 

Drawing in behind her, on his knees, his thin dressing gown now hanging open, Severus watched his erection find its own way to her wide open hole, dripping wet and ready for him. Holding securely to her hips and lower back, he crammed his girth inside her in one movement, shouting out himself at how fucking amazing she felt, her walls clenching his needy cock like a vice. 

“Oh, my good god!” he roared, beginning to thump himself against her arse in a fast, pounding rhythm. 

The pants and squeals that she was releasing goaded Severus to move faster. He couldn’t help it. It was like driving a train that had lost its brakes. Bloody Merlin, he wanted to fuck this girl as if his life depended on it. The fact that the whole future of wizarding Britain was currently resting on his shoulders meant nothing when he was balls-deep inside the tight cunt of Miss Hermione Granger. 

He rested the flat of his hand on the tailbone of her spine, pushing down to tilt her channel up towards him, continuing to thrust inside her, knowing that the new angle would be hitting her sweet spot with every stroke, agitating yet another orgasm from her. 

“Are you going to come again, little witch?” he demanded, pounding into her like a wizard possessed, knowing that his own climax was not far away. 

“Yes,” she gasped, panting hard. “Yes … again … more!”

Severus drilled his final flurry of thrusts inside her, hearing her scream and feeling her channel contract around his cock, jerking the first spurt of come from the end, followed by several more as he expelled the contents of his balls inside her, slowing his thrusts but keeping them deep to give her everything he had. 

“Fucking Merlin,” he panted, holding her hips as he drew his now limp and sore dick out of her. “Fucking bloody hell.”

He got to his feet, for his knees were about to give out from their punishment upon the none-too-soft hearthrug, and he leaned down to pull Granger to standing, also.

“Is your compulsion relieved?” he asked, turning her to face him, his robe hanging open, and she was naked apart from her pyjama vest pulled high above her pert tits, that he still wanted to suck, even after his explosive orgasm.

“Yes,” she answered, trembling, and he enveloped her in his arms, wrapping his open dressing gown around her back. 

They stood in silence for a few moments. 

“Can I stay?” she asked. 

“That is not wise, Hermione. If I am correct, all the signs indicate that everything the Order has been working towards will come to a head tomorrow, if not sooner.”

“I understand,” she replied, her shoulders falling, and she extricated herself from his embrace, pulling her vest down to cover herself and finding her pyjama shorts from the floor. 

Once clothed, she turned back to him. 

“Please. Be careful, Sir.”

“I intend to, Granger.”

He bent down and kissed her lips softly, just the once, and then turned her towards the fireplace, where she picked up a handful of Floo powder and tossed it in, calling out for Shell Cottage. Ah, of course, it was the full moon tonight and Lupin would be transformed. The girls and the baby must be staying at the Weasley cottage tonight. 

Nothing happened. 

She tried again. 

“What is happening?” he asked. 

“The Floo!” she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. “The Floo connection to both Shell Cottage and Grimmauld Place are sealed, due to Remus’ transformation. I can’t get back!”

“Fuck,” he muttered. Hogwarts was currently not a safe place for Granger to be. 

“How did I manage to get through?”

“You called me. Charlie would have left the Floo open for outgoing calls, and if you remember, I pulled you through physically, you did not use the powder.”

“Shit.”

“Language.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the unnecessary admonishment. 

“I shall conceal you here. But, be warned, you are not to leave this office, under any circumstances, whatever you might see, whatever you might hear. And you are to continue to regularly test the Floo between here and Shell Cottage, and return there as soon as it is reconnected. Do you understand?”

“I do understand you, but what is happening here at the castle?”

“Come with me,” he sighed, taking her hand and leading her to his bedchamber, for it was likely that his explanation of every that had happened at the Ministry and at the Riddle House would take an awfully long time. 

They settled themselves in bed, two small candles burning, and he began to tell her everything that had been planned. 

-xxx-

Surprisingly, they did manage to get a few hours of fitful sleep, and were awoken just after dawn by Kingsley’s lynx Patronus bounding on the bed. 

“Severus. It is done. Once the Ministry opens for the day’s work, Umbridge will be bringing all her followers and supporters to Hogwarts, to confront you. I shall explain, but at six am precisely, lower the wards of the castle, for I am bringing us our own army.”

They looked at one another, fear and hope in their eyes. Snape cast a tempus charm, revealing they had little over twenty minutes before he needed to lower the wards. He squeezed her hand in a gesture that conveyed more than words ever could, then left the bedroom to wash and clothe himself quickly. 

Hermione sent her otter Patronus to Charlie, asking him to please wake up and unblock the damn Floo. She was trying the fire in the office, as Snape had instructed her to, when she was surprised by Charlie walking through himself, fully dressed and with Garth under his arm. 

“Charlie!”

“Don’t worry, Hermione, I worked out you and Sev ages ago,” he teased, smirking at her skimpy attire and tossing her a handful of her own clothing. “You’ll need these, my lovely. You can’t go into battle in your pyjamas.”

“Miss Granger is not going into battle, whatever she is wearing,” drawled Snape, arriving fully dressed from the door of his bedchamber. 

“Maybe not,” retorted Charlie, sealing the Floo connection behind him, “but if she’s stuck here then at least she’s not doing it with her arse hanging out.”

“Why can’t I go back to Shell Cottage?” she asked. 

“Do you want to go back?” Charlie replied, his eyes serious.

“No. I feel like I should be here.”

“You should not be here,” Snape interjected. 

“Aw, look at you two, bickering like an old married couple, already.”

They turned together to see Charlie, and Garth, grinning broadly. Seriously, how could a fucking dragon smile? 

“Right then,” Charlie continued. “Fleur and Filius are at Shell Cottage, along with Orla and Teddy. Remus should be untransformed by now, but probably sleeping things off. He’s secure at Grimmauld, as he blocked himself in before night fell. I’m going down to Hagrid’s, and I’ll secure the hut so that he can remain there safely, and I will remain there as back-up, as I’m presuming things are going to get ugly. The gamekeepers’ hut is a great place watch over the grounds undetected, as I can obscure the windows. Hagrid can look after Garth, should I need to get involved.”

“Should you?” Snape asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“When I get involved,” Charlie conceded, dropping his shoulders. “That bastard took my entire family, in the most vicious of ways, and I intend to avenge every one of them.”

The last remaining Weasley gave them a small salute at the side of his head, and left the office to head for Hagrid’s, Garth tucked under his arm. Hermione indicated that she was going to wash and change, and Severus was left in his office, with ten minutes before he needed to lower the wards as Kingsley had instructed, and a ball of fear grumbling in the pit of his stomach. 

His Floo glowed green, and Minerva McGonagall and Pomona Sprout came tumbling through. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked his colleagues, tersely, extremely thankful that Granger had just that minute left to attire herself more appropriately.

“I believe, Severus,” Minerva said, her pointed hat wobbling dangerously, “that today we retake our school. Whatever assistance I can provide, I shall.”

“Very well. We have but a few minutes until Kingsley is arriving, and I do not know how many people he is bringing with him. Shall we proceed to the main hall?”

The two witches nodded, and they all walked out of his office door. He hesitated for a moment, before locking it behind him, and securing it with the strongest locking spell he could muster. Granger would be mad as hell, but he could not risk her revealing herself if the Dark Lord was to be summoned here. 

If something happened to him, and he was unable to get back here to release her, she could free herself using the Floo connection. 

Her protection was all that mattered to him. 

-xxx-

Severus felt the castle’s protection leave him as he lowered the wards at exactly six o’clock. A few seconds later the Great Hall began to fill with Ministry workers – Aurors, Unspeakables, secretaries, curse-breakers, maintenance men, even the witches that ran the restaurant in the atrium. Most of the staff, it seemed, were firmly against Umbridge’s rule. 

When the pops of Apparition finally stopped, Shacklebolt indicated that Snape should replace the wards, which he did, and the enveloping protection of the school wards surrounded them all. 

“These witches and wizards are the future,” Kingsley explained, using a Sonorous Charm that all those gathered could hear. “These are the silent majority, who want peace and tolerance returned to the world. The news of our plan has filtered through the Ministry, down through each department, from person to person. Nobody but those who are supporters of Dolores Umbridge will be presenting themselves for work today.”

A ripple of approving applause ran around the room. 

“I have advised the Minister to come here this morning and confront you, Snape, hence why we are all here so early, so that the Aurors, the fine witches and wizards you can see uniformed here, who are not corrupt, can station themselves around the castle and grounds. The Ministry workers will be protected here in the Great Hall.”

“Then it is time for me to summon the Dark Lord,” Snape replied, his voice equally enhanced by the Sonorous Charm. “I shall advise him that Umbridge is on her way, as he instructed me to do. Voldemort will bring the Death Eaters to conceal themselves in the grounds, for I shall tell him that I will be meeting the Minister outside, to give him the most amount of space for his army.”

The assembled Ministry workers looked terrified at what was being proposed. 

“You must be brave, all of you,” Severus told them. “For it is only by being bold that we will regain control of our world.”

He turned on his heel, his cloak billowing in a black circle around him as he stalked out of the Great Hall, leaving Kingsley to station the Aurors and McGonagall and Sprout to organise the others as he walked towards the main doors and out into the courtyard, where so much blood had been spilt. 

In the cool, early-morning light, Severus took a deep breath, and touched the tip of his wand to his Dark Mark, summoning Voldemort, as he had promised. 

-xxx-

Remus came to, naked and exhausted on the mattress in the Grimmauld Place cellar. Checking himself over quickly for injuries, as he always did, he saw only a small gash on his chest, which he healed simply once he had retrieved his wand from its hiding place at the back of the cupboard. 

There were deep scratches in the woodwork and chunks of plaster and brick torn from the walls. Clearly, his werewolf self had become enraged at being contained, and scrabbled desperately to free itself. No wonder Remus felt so exhausted now. He must have been in torment, all night. 

Shaking his head in resignation, he left the cellar as it was, closing the door on the hated room for another month, and headed upstairs for a shower, and then to bed. Orla and Teddy would be spending another day at least at Shell Cottage, for he would need the time to recover himself. The first day and night of a new cycle was always the worst, for he was so physically exhausted from the exertions he’d put his body through, during the full moon. 

A few hours later, he awoke, now ravenous, and so headed downstairs in search of breakfast, which would be waiting on the kitchen table under a stasis charm, left by the delivering house-elf from Hogwarts. 

There was no food to be seen. 

Remus searched the pantry, and the dresser cupboards, but still nothing. 

What had happened? 

He could live without the breakfast, he was just concerned. Not once since Severus had set up this arrangement, had the Hogwarts kitchens failed to deliver. Was something happening at the castle that was preventing the elves from leaving? 

Lupin hastened to the grate, and sent a green flare through to Snape’s office, which was answered by Hermione, who seemed scared and agitated. 

“Remus!” she cried.

“What is happening, Hermione?”

“Severus has locked me in his office. Your Floo and the Shell Cottage Floo were blocked, so I couldn’t get back. But, oh, Remus. Things are happening here. I can hear so much noise, so many people are here, from all sides.”

“There is a battle happening?”

“I think so. Severus and Kingsley have engineered a confrontation between Umbridge and Voldemort. It’s happening now.”

“I’m coming through.”

“No! You can’t! You’ll be discovered.”

“Get out of the way, Hermione.”

Lupin had thrown his Floo powder and had joined Hermione in the headmasters’ office before she’d had a chance to block the connection, and they both ran to the window, where she’d clearly been watching from, since there was a dent in the cushion on the sill. 

“What the bloody hell is all that?” he asked, incredulous, as he looked down on the scene below them. 

-xxx-

Severus swallowed hard as he stood at the edge of the courtyard, looking down upon the school grounds spread before him, as Dolores Umbridge puffed her way up the hill from the gate, followed by a good crowd of Ministry toadies who had attached themselves to her power and status. 

To all intents and purposes, Snape was alone, a solitary figure, clad in voluminous black, who awaited the censure of the all-powerful Minister for Magic for his alleged treason. 

Only Voldemort knew that he and his Death Eaters were concealed all around, ready to mount an attack upon Umbridge and her followers, for her attempt to usurp him. 

And only Severus knew that Shacklebolt’s Aurors were concealed even further, ready to arrest any Death Eaters or corrupt Ministry workers who were not killed in the upcoming battle, for surely, there would be one. 

It was unlikely that an altercation with either of these psychopaths would end without bloodshed, on both sides. He could only hope that Granger had not found a way out of his office.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You dare to try and disarm me, Dolores?” he screamed. “You dare?”

Umbridge reached the top of the path, her stubby wand outstretched towards him. Snape folded his arms and merely raised an eyebrow by way of a greeting, especially since she was rude enough to have her wand drawn already. 

“I expect you know why we are here, Snape,” she began, still slightly out of breath from the long walk up from the school gates. 

“I have no idea, Dolores,” he drawled. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“Minister Umbridge to you!” she retorted, a ridiculously cross look upon her face.

He pretended to think about it. 

“I don’t think it really matters what I call you, Madam,” he replied, at length. 

“You may be correct, Snape, for I am reliably informed by my Deputy Minister Shacklebolt that you are not to be trusted! That you are not a wizard who should be working in my esteemed administration!”

“I do not work in your self-esteemed administration. I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts School, and was appointed by the Dark Lord himself.”

“The school is under the control of the Ministry of Magic! Therefore, you are a member of my administration. Do not be pedantic, Snape!”

He was rather enjoying riling this hideous bitch, although a part of him still wanted to vomit in sheer terror of what they were attempting to do, to bring down two psychopaths at the same time. 

“I answer only to the instructions of Lord Voldemort,” he told her, firmly.

Umbridge narrowed her eyes, and took a few threatening steps towards him, and Severus closed his fingers around his own wand, which he was concealing behind his folded arms. 

“Lord Voldemort will soon answer to me, you fool! Did you even read the documentation I gave you? The legislation against half-bloods has already been passed, and I now outrank Tom Riddle on every level. The Ministry is as good as mine!”

“Is that so?” hissed a terrifying, disembodied voice. 

All colour drained from Umbridge’s face, and she whirled around, looking for the source of the voice, although Voldemort did not yet reveal himself.

He and the Death Eaters had arrived an hour previously, alerted to Umbridge’s imminent arrival by Snape’s signal through the conduit of the Dark Mark. Voldemort looked even worse than when Severus had seen him the previous evening. He had been walking whilst heavily leaning on Lucius Malfoy’s ostentatious cane, thus depriving Malfoy of his wand, which was stored inside. The Dark Lord’s eyes were painfully red, his skin stretched paper-thin across his gaunt features. 

Riddle was secreted not far from where they now stood, having found himself a ringside seat for the altercation. The other Death Eaters were distributed through the grounds, having heeded Severus’ warnings that there was to be no fighting within the castle walls, not since the horrendous damage that had been caused just a few months previously, and that they personally had been forced to repair. No doubt the lazy bastards didn’t fancy that job again. 

Umbridge stopped searching for the Dark Lord, and turned her beady eyes back upon him. 

“Have you … tricked me, Snape?”

“Not at all, Dolores. I was ably assisted by your new Deputy Minister, whom you appointed yourself.”

“Shacklebolt? Where is he? He did not report for work this morning.”

“No idea,” Snape lied, knowing that Kingsley was Disillusioned and standing on the steps of the castle. “But I suspect that locating your rogue deputy is the least of your worries at present.”

“I do not know what you are talking about, you odious man! I have been told, from a reliable source, that you, with intent to sabotage my administration, have taken confidential information that you were given by me, before the Dark Lord.”

“I have indeed, Madam. Your requested changes for the school, and for wizarding society as a whole, gave me great concern. I believed that you were acting in your own interests, and by marginalising half-bloods, you intend to place yourself in a position of greater power, above the Dark Lord.”

“Everything I have done has been leading to this moment, and a greasy excuse for a teacher will not ruin it! I will run this country as it should be run! I Will. Have. Order!”

“I can only presume that was your plan when you removed the Imperius Curse from Pius Thicknesse,” Severus replied, coolly. “You wanted him out of the way, knowing that it would mean the death of an innocent man, who was an excellent Auror with an impeccable record and a loving family. You threw Thicknesse before the mercy of the Dark Lord, so that you could take his place.”

Her face blanched. 

“How did you know that? No one knows that!”

“Call it an educated guess,” he drawled. 

“Yaxley’s Imperius curse would have worn off eventually, or he would have forgotten to keep reapplying it,” Umbridge replied, retaining her composure and dismissing his accusation. “I just expediated the process.”

“So where does this leave us, Dolores?”

“Where it leaves you, Headmaster Snape, is under arrest for treason against the Minister for Magic! I shall be very happy to see you languish in Azkaban under the strongest charges!”

She indicated for the Aurors, the corrupt ones who had attended the school with her, to move forward and place him in magical handcuffs. Before they could reach him, however, Voldemort cancelled his Disillusionment charm, and there he stood, a hideous presence, leaning on the borrowed cane. 

All around him, there were puffs of grey smoke as the accompanying Death Eaters cancelled their own charms and materialised into view. The Aurors she had commanded began to retreat to their original positions, cowed by the mere sight of so many dark witches and wizards before them. 

“Minister Umbridge,” Riddle began, his voice quiet and threatening, but speaking with clear difficulty, his chest heaving with effort. 

Shit, was the psychotic deviant about to expire from old age, or from his horrendously fractured soul, before anyone could have the pleasure of killing him? 

“I am most displeased with you, Dolores,” Voldemort continued. “The laws you have introduced pertaining to the status of half-bloods, these were not passed with my instruction.”

“That matters not … Mr Riddle,” she replied, a simpering smile upon her face that belied the shocks gasps from the Death Eaters at her lack of respect at disregarding his title. “The laws have now been passed, which means that as a pureblood, I outrank you. And since I am already in the position of Minister, that means I have the final say on all legislation, I think you’ll find.”

If it hadn’t been so fucking serious, Severus would have laughed at the sight of this preposterous pink nightmare talking to Lord Voldemort as if he were a recalcitrant child. She certainly had balls, there was no doubt about that. Possibly real ones. 

Voldemort lifted the Elder Wand towards her, the wand he had stolen from Dumbledore. 

With cat-like reflexes, she cast an Expelliarmus upon it, not realising that Voldemort possessed the Deathstick – the unbeatable wand. It remained firm in his bony, skeletal hand. 

“You dare to try and disarm me, Dolores?” he screamed. “You dare?”

Every Death Eater and every Ministry worker was focused on the altercation between Lord Voldemort and Dolores Umbridge. The rancid, decaying wizard versus the puffed-up peacock – both yearning for power, both willing to kill the other for it. 

Neither of them, and no one else, apart from Severus, saw the red-headed young wizard striding up the hill from Hagrid’s hut, wand in hand, the burning desire for vengeance upon his face. The door of the hut was open, and Hagrid was standing there with Garth, both their faces etched with concern. 

Charlie managed to get right up to Voldemort before the Dark Lord noticed him, his wand extended in the face of the wizard who had viciously murdered his entire family. 

“A Weasley?” Voldemort laughed, his rage with Umbridge temporarily forgotten as he looked cursorily at Charlie’s red hair. “Didn’t I kill you all?”

The Death Eaters fell about laughing, like the mindless sheep that they were. Charlie stepped even closer to Voldemort, so close that his booted feet were touching the Dark Lord’s bare ones. He brought his ruddy face, glowing with health and vitality, right up to Riddle’s, which looked like a death shroud in comparison. 

Charles bared his teeth in anger, breathing deeply through his freckled nose, and filled his eyes with righteous fire. 

“You. Missed. One.”

Before Voldemort could reply, Charlie vanished. 

Well, he didn’t entirely vanish, for he was larger and more threatening than ever before. 

He had transformed into his Animagus form, right there in front of everyone, and had risen into the air before the Dark Lord even had time to react. 

Charles Weasley was a dragon, a magnificent Romanian Longhorn, his scales glinting forest green in the morning sun, with enormous gold horns jutting straight forward out of his head, which was topped with a huge tuft of Weasley-red hair. 

The dragon’s eyes were as full of fury as Charlie’s had been. Severus watched the huge beast draw back its head, take a deep breath, and only just had time to throw up a shield charm around himself. With one huge exhale, the dragon breathed a tsunami of fire, hitting Voldemort in the chest, and continuing to blaze at full pelt until the bastard was nothing but a pile of charred ash on the ground. 

The Death Eaters stood rigid, evidently too stupid, or in the case of Lucius Malfoy, too drug-addled, to see the danger they were now in. Charlie Weasley was avenging his family, who had been killed not only by Voldemort, but by curses cast from the wands of a myriad Death Eaters on that fateful day of the final battle. 

Severus strengthened his Protego as the dragon took another deep breath, before blasting another wave of fire that engulfed every Death Eater he could see – spreading the flames back and forth, razing them all down until there was nothing left of them but a pile of cinders.

Umbridge’s Ministry toadies stared in horror, and Kingsley’s Aurors began to pop into view, cancelling their Disillusionment charms, realising that there would be no Death Eaters to arrest, now, since Weasley had just barbequed them all. 

Shacklebolt walked towards Severus, and they both looked at the huge dragon still above them, flapping its huge wings to create heavy gusts of wind on the ground below, wind that blew the piles of ash it had created all over the school grounds and beyond. 

Dolores Umbridge reacted first. 

“Unnatural filth!” she shouted, at the dragon. “Unregistered Animagi are against the law!”

The dragon looked down at her, almost with disgust, as it continued to flap its wings, creating dust and havoc below it. 

Umbridge raised her wand, pointing it directly at the dragon’s heart. 

“Avada Kedavra!”

Severus watched as the murderous green jet left her stunted wand, almost in slow-motion, and headed towards the dragon, towards Weasley. 

From the corner of his eye, a tiny shape came into view, a miniature version of the Longhorn that Charles was transformed into. With great effort, Garth launched himself into the air, in front of his beloved master, taking the full force of the Avada in his little chest, sending him spiralling out of the air, down and down, until the little dragon hit the hard ground with a sickening thud. 

The huge dragon made a noise of terrible pain, that was truly awful to behold, and many of those watching, horrified, covered their ears. 

It reared its head back, and breathed the same wave of fire at Umbridge as he had upon Voldemort, not letting the torrent of flame cease until she was nothing but a pile of pink dust upon the ground. 

Rearing its head again, going after the group of Ministry workers who had supported Umbridge, Severus knew he had to stop its rampage. 

“Charles!” he shouted into the air. “Stop! These wizards are not Death Eaters, they simply made the wrong choices. Let Kingsley and the Aurors deal with them. Do not take anything else upon yourself.”

The huge dragon appeared to hear him, and fell from the air, landing gracefully next to the body of the tiny one, and transformed back into Charlie Weasley, who fell to his knees and picked up Garth’s body, holding it to his chest, tears flowing freely and unashamedly. Hagrid was already halfway up the hill, heading towards Charlie with what looked like basket of supplies from his Care of Magical Creatures classes, perhaps thinking he could repair the little dragon. 

Let him try, Severus thought. Let him at least try. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt asked Severus to release the school wards, and gave the order for his Aurors to start arresting the Ministry workers who had turned rogue, those who had shifted their allegiance to Umbridge in their own pathetic pursuit of power. 

Magical handcuffs were applied to the new prisoners, who seemed happy to be arrested, rather than incinerated by an angry dragon. 

They were then transported to the holding cells in the Department for Magical Law Enforcement; the Aurors and Kingsley Apparating in and out of the school grounds as they did so. 

The doors to the school were thrown open by Sprout and McGonagall, and the Ministry workers who had suffered badly under Umbridge’s regime came rushing through the courtyard, and jubilation could be seen on their faces and heard in their voices, for they would rebuild the Ministry for Magic, under Kingsley Shacklebolt, who, with Umbridge’s death, would have been immediately promoted to Minister. 

Severus could not think of anyone braver, or cleverer, for the job.

-xxx-

Hermione and Remus saw Garth go down, from their vantage point at the window of Severus’ office, and screamed in horror. They had both been spectators for Charlie’s amazing show, as their friend had wreaked his revenge for the callous murder of his family. Impotent, but obeying Snape’s orders, they had watched, frustrated, but resigned that there was nothing they could do to help. 

When Kingsley began rounding up the prisoners, Remus could wait no longer. 

“Accio Snape’s broomstick,” he cast, waving his wand vaguely. "He'll have one. Trust me."

A tall cupboard pinged open, and a handsome racing broom came flying out, and hovered at Remus’ hand. 

“Are you coming, Hermione?” he asked, immediately getting astride the broom, admiring it. 

She shook her head. There was nothing in the world that would entice to fly out the window on a broomstick. That Gringotts dragon had ruined her already dubious appetite for flying forever. 

Remus rose in the air, and guided the broomstick out of the long, narrow window, leaving her quite alone in the office, and she watched him fly to down to the scenes of celebration below, although he headed straight for Charlie, putting a strong, comforting arm around the other wizard’s shoulders, and must be offering words of consolation. 

Poor Charlie. He had achieved the unthinkable and taken down not only Voldemort, but Umbridge, and all the Death Eaters as well. 

How unfair that Umbridge’s final spell had been to cast a killing curse at him, which had ended up being taken by the innocent and trusting Garth, who had given his life to protect his beloved master. Hermione began to weep for his loss, and for yet another life taken cruelly from Charlie Weasley. 

Looking down at the courtyard, she could see Snape commanding Ministry workers, taking charge, organising Disapparitions, for all these people must be returned to the Ministry somehow, although they seemed reluctant to leave. 

The dark, surly wizard was an individual among a crowd of sameness. His sheer height held him above most of the others, but it was more than that. His bearing, his sheer power, his self-control and his neutral demeanour meant that he was someone to be held in esteem, treated with respect. To have prostrated himself before Voldemort for that long … it must have sickened him. 

Suddenly, her stomach lurched, and she felt the familiar thrum of the compulsion ripple through her body. 

What?

They had satisfied the compulsion with full intercourse last night, and if Voldemort was dead, surely the compulsion had died with him? 

But no, it was definitely happening, and she began to shake in fear. Had Professor Snape been wrong? Was she to be afflicted with this curse forever, because Voldemort had not lifted it from her with his wand? 

No, please. No. 

If the compulsion never left her, then he would never believe that she truly wanted him. 

-xxx-

Remus arrived in the courtyard after his brief flight down from the headmaster’s office, landing next to Snape, and handed him his own broomstick. 

“Just borrowed it for a few second, Severus,” he smiled, putting the broomstick firmly back into its owner’s hands, enjoying the nonplussed look on the slippery Slytherin’s face. “Very nice broom. Very nice.”

Remus Lupin walked freely outside for the first time in months. 

The piles of ash crunched under his worn, brown shoes, and he looked down, for this mere charcoal was the remains of Voldemort, and of the Death Eaters that Charlie had incinerated. One of them was Antonin Dolohov, who had killed his wife, and taken away Teddy’s mother. Bile rose up in his throat. Dolohov was now dead, but nothing would bring back what the dark wizard had taken from him. 

“I am sorry, Dora,” he said, quietly, grinding the ash beneath his feet with disgust, and kicking at it viciously. 

“Remus,” said a deep voice behind him, and he swung around to see Kingsley, with his arm around a familiar-looking woman, looking pale and unwell, but it was his mother-in-law, nonetheless. 

“Andromeda!” he exclaimed, reaching for the woman who had lost her husband and her daughter to this wretched war. 

He held her carefully, for she felt thin beneath his embrace. 

“Thank you,” Lupin whispered. “Thank you for caring for Teddy when I could not. I am so sorry for what happened to you.”

“My first act as Minister was to release all prisoners held on unfair charges,” Kingsley advised him. “Madam Tonks appeared to be first on my list.”

The new Minister winked. 

“I believe she will be safe with you?”

“She will indeed. Andromeda, you will come home with me? Teddy is there, and … and there’s someone else I’d like you to meet.”

“Yes, my son,” Andromeda replied. “I would be happy to come with you. As you know, I now have nothing – no possessions, no home.”

“You will be compensated, Madam Tonks,” Kingsley assured her. “It will take some time, but the Ministry will compensate all those who have suffered financially under Umbridge’s rule.”

“Until then, my home is yours,” Remus told her, belatedly remembering that Grimmauld Place was Hermione property, and that he ought to ask her first, but it was a bit late for that now. 

He walked back over to where Charlie and Hagrid were still crouched on the grass, tending to Garth.

“Charlie,” he said, quietly. “Shall we go? We can take Garth back to Shell Cottage. There is … there are, plenty of beautiful spots near the beach where you can lay him to rest.”

Hagrid clapped Charlie on the back as if to encourage him to stand up, which he did, holding the lifeless body of the tiny dragon heartbreakingly tenderly. 

“You did well, young Mr Weasley,” Hagrid told him, and Charlie nodded in response, taking Lupin’s arm and allowing him to Apparate him away. 

-xxx-

Severus began to tire of all the commotion. 

The clearing of the grounds seemed to be well under the control of Shacklebolt, McGonagall and Sprout, so he discreetly made his way across the courtyard and back into the school, following the familiar corridors that led the well-worth path to his office, where he had secreted Miss Granger, and where, incredibly, she appeared to have stayed, despite Lupin escaping on his own purloined broomstick. 

He entered his office to find it empty. 

Sending his broomstick back to its storage cupboard with a wave of his hand, locking the office door behind him and taking off his outer clothing, he walked through to his bedchamber, totally surprised to find Granger in the middle of his made bed, wearing what appeared to be nothing but his thin black dressing gown, and there was a pile of her clothing on the floor. 

Her face was streaked with tears, and flushed red. He rushed around to the side of the bed and sat down next to her, taking her hand. 

“Whatever is the matter? I presume you saw the events unfold from the window? I apologise for securing you in here, but I could not risk you getting involved, and possibly coming to harm. And please, do not cry for that dragon. I know that Garth was rather endearing, but …”

“I’m not crying about any of that!” she shouted, suddenly. 

“Then, what?”

“Voldemort is dead,” she said, flatly. 

“Yes,” Severus replied. “Yes, he certainly is dead.”

Granger looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot from crying. 

“The curse did not die with him, Sir. I am still compelled. It must be a curse that has to be removed by the caster’s own wand. The compulsion came upon me about half an hour ago, and is steadily increasing.”

“That is impossible,” he replied. “When a caster dies, any active spells they leave are automatically cancelled. That is how the basic laws of magic work.”

“It must be wrong. I am compelled, I know I am!”

He smiled, undoing a few buttons on his shirt, and loosening his cuffs, before kicking off his shoes. 

“Granger.” 

“Yes?”

“The basic laws of magic are not wrong. If you are feeling anything similar to the compulsion now, then these are … your own desires. Voldemort’s curse died with him, I promise you.”

The beautiful young witch stared at him, comprehension dawning slowly but surely. 

“But then, that means …”

“So it would seem.”

“Would you kiss me, Professor Snape?”

“If that is what you desire, Miss Granger.”

“It appears that I do,” she smiled, slipping her arms around his neck as he moved his face towards hers. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, just as she claimed his mouth, drawing him into a kiss that took his very breath away.

He plundered her mouth, with her full consent for the very first time, and it was exquisite. Severus could not help but push her back against the pillows, in a bed where they had made love so many times, but they were here for the first time completely free of the compulsion. 

Gasping as he felt her small hand trail down his shirt front, he was surprised to feel her magically unfastening the remaining buttons before heading to the crotch of his trousers, grasping at the buttons and zip she found there. 

“Hold on, Granger,” he breathed, covering her hand with his own. “You do not have to do anything just because …”

“I want this,” she insisted, shaking his hand off and continuing with her task. “I need to prove to myself that I am not going mad.”

“Why would you think you are mad?” he asked, gulping deeply as she achieved success in her endeavours to free his cock. 

“Because, I have known for a long time now, that … that I love you. And you keep telling me that I don’t, that I only think that way because of the compulsion curse. I know you want to reply that I couldn’t possibly love you, but the truth is, Sir, I do. And I am very sure of that.”

He stared at her, at her beautiful, honest face, with her now-experienced hand beginning a slow tug upon his penis. It was wonderful. After all, he had taught her himself. 

It was time to return her honesty. 

“I have loved you for many a month now, Granger. But I would never have told you that whilst you were still compelled.”

“You didn’t need to,” she replied, gently encouraging him to move on top of her, wiggling her bare pussy into position under his erection. “I could see it, even if though you never said it. Your actions, your care, the very depths of your eyes – they all betray you, Sir.”

“Severus,” he corrected, using his hand to fold the bulbous head of his cock inside her. “Always Severus, from now on.”

“Please make love to me, Severus,” she asked, pushing her hands down the loosened waistband of his trousers and clutching his bum cheeks. 

“With pleasure,” he enunciated, slowly sliding the remainder of his dick into the warm, wet place he loved so much. “With very great pleasure, Hermione.”

He held himself above her, pushing open the front of his dressing gown that she wore, so that their bare chests were pressed together, and took a handful of firm breast, cupping it in his palm and tweaking the nipple into a hard peak that he could suck upon. 

She gasped as he changed the pace of his thrusting, going a little faster now, but still taking his time as he pushed her hair back from her face and littered kisses all over it, ending up at her lips, which he captured for a deep, long-lasting snog. 

“I want to do this with you forever,” she breathed. 

Snape raised an eyebrow as he continued to ease himself in and out of her. 

“Well, that can be arranged, should it truly be what you wish?”

“Arrange it,” she gasped, and received a particularly deep thrust in return. 

“Don’t tempt me, witch,” he warned, “for I am at the very limit of my endurance, when it comes to you. If you ask me to make you mine, then I will, and I will … unghhh … never let you go. So, be warned.”

Her eyes glittered with mischief. 

“Arrange it,” she repeated, squeezing her inner muscles so they gripped him even tighter. 

“Fuck! Fucking hell, Hermione!”

She did not answer, but raised her eyebrow in a parody of his own patented expression.

“Marry me, girl,” he begged, desperately thrusting into her. “Marry me, and stay with me forever, because I cannot bear the thought of living one more day without your annoying self in my bed and my life.”

“I shall annoy you forever, Sir,” she grinned, drawing him down for a kiss as he continued to fuck her. “And in case you’re unsure, that was a yes.”

Severus leaned over her, allowing his hips to fly free as he drove them both towards their completions, thinking how damn inappropriate it had been to propose marriage whilst fucking her, but struggling to give a single shit about conventions, right at that moment. 

“You’ll stay with me?” he gasped, reaching his orgasm and spurting his love inside her, forcing himself as deep as it was possible to be. 

“Until the very end,” she confirmed, folding her arms around his back and holding him so tightly against her, that he hoped she would never let go.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The truth that they are all gone, Fleur. My family are all truly gone.” 
> 
> Charlie shook himself gently from her embrace without another word, and walked to the door of the cottage, taking Garth’s body and summoning a large digging spade. 
> 
> “Please, everyone. Please just give me some time.”

Remus Apparated himself, Charlie and Andromeda to the beach outside Shell Cottage, knocking quickly on the door because Charlie still seemed to be in a daze, and cradling Garth’s body. It was flung open by Fleur; whose eyes immediately went to Charlie and the broken cargo he was carrying. 

“Oh, Charlie!” she exclaimed, rushing forwards and putting her arms around him, guiding him into the cottage. “What ‘appened?” 

Remus followed, with Andromeda on his arm, who squealed with delight as she saw her grandson for the first time in months, being held in Orla’s arms. His new wife met his eyes, and he could see the thousand questions contained within them, but he merely indicated wordlessly that she should pass Teddy to his grandmother. 

Filius was seated on an armchair, surveying the scene, but not speaking. Remus perched himself on the arm, and gave everyone gathered an abbreviated account of the altercation at the school, not leaving out any of Charlie’s heroic actions, Kingsley’s rigorous planning nor Severus’ cool demeanour that had allowed the confrontation to play out as it had done, with minimal loss of life to any innocent parties.

“Except Garth,” Charlie choked, stroking the little dragon’s cheek, who looked as if he were merely sleeping peacefully. 

“Garth is an ‘ero, Charlie,” comforted Fleur, her arms still around him. “Just like ‘is master.”

“I’m no hero,” he refuted. “I did what I set out to do, which was to avenge the murders of my family. Now that is done, and I am pleased, but it is time to face the truth.”

“What truth?” she asked.

“The truth that they are all gone, Fleur. They are all truly gone.” 

Charlie shook himself gently from her embrace without another word, and walked to the door of the cottage, taking Garth’s body and summoning a large digging spade. 

“Please, everyone. Please just give me some time.”

They all nodded, for of course they would, and Charlie jerked his head once in return, before turning and leaving the cottage, his curly red hair having worked free from its usual messy knot at the back, and now bobbing long on his shoulders. 

Casting around the room, Remus knew he would have to speak next.

“Fleur, Filius … Orla. This is Andromeda Tonks, Dora’s mother. She has just been released from Azkaban, and will be waiting on the Ministry compensation programme so that she can rebuild her house, which was destroyed by the Death Eaters upon her arrest.”

He smiled at the sight of Teddy being bounced on the knee of his grandmother, who kept exclaiming how large he had grown, how handsome he was, and how much he reminded her of Nymphadora. 

Orla looked wretchedly awkward, and Lupin knew what he must do next. 

“I need to speak with Orla, privately,” he told Fleur, who gave him a nod of quiet understanding. “We will take a walk down to the sea, for it feels very good to be free to roam outside, and Orla needs that too.”

He extended his hand, and the young witch took it, already looking close to tears as he led her out of the cottage. They walked down the deserted, sandy beach, and he felt her begin to loosen her grip, but he kept a tight hold of her hand, and she looked up at him in surprise.

When they were a decent distance away from the cottage, near to the edge of the water, he turned to look at her, and her eyes were full of tears. 

“Why are you crying, Orla?” he asked, as they stopped walking and he spun her gently her to face him, tracing her tears with a gentle thumb.

“Because,” she said, casting her eyes around the beach as if it hurt to look at him. “Because you had no need to bind yourself to me. Yaxley is dead, he cannot ever hurt me again, nor gain access to Hope. Charlie has done away with the Malfoys, and I am entirely free from those who would do me harm.”

“All these are good things, surely?”

“Of course, they are. But, Remus, with Umbridge dead and Kingsley as the new minister, the laws against werewolves will be revoked, surely?”

“Well, I am hoping so,” he smiled. “Else I may have to make Kingsley’s life hell until he allows me to get a job.”

She smiled a little in return. 

“Neither of us need to live in hiding any more. And I suppose what I’m trying to say, is that I won’t hold you to any promises you made me. We were doing the best we could in a dreadful situation, and I will forever appreciate you stepping forward to save me.”

A warm gust of wind swept across the beach, blowing her white-blonde hair to the side as she spoke, and ruffling his own unkempt hair and beard. 

“Sit,” he instructed, and he seated himself on the dry sand, taking off his socks and shoes, both embarrassingly old and worn, and enjoying the feel of the beach beneath his feet. 

Orla looked confused, but copied him anyway, slipping off her own shoes and stretching out her long legs in the sun. Lupin watched her, this young girl with her whole life ahead of her. He would need to choose his words exceptionally carefully. 

“I shall, of course, not hold you to any promises that you made me, Orla. However, let me tell you that since the night we bonded, I have felt a sense of care and of calmness that has not been present in my life for a very long time. I completed our bond with the promise that I hoped love would develop, and for me, my feelings for you grow daily – with affection, respect, and yes, desire. 

You are a strong, brave and beautiful witch, who has not only survived the torture that was heaped upon you, but you are looking to the future beyond it. My son loves you, and I believe that you love him in return. And, because it is important, I want you to know that even as we sit here, after the tumultuous history that has been made today, my base desire is still to have you back in our bed tonight, naked beneath my hands.”

More tears fell from her eyes, and she wiped them away crossly with her fingers, cursing her pregnancy hormones. They both looked straight ahead, out to sea. 

“Your mother-in-law, Remus. What about Madam Tonks? She will not be happy that you have remarried so soon after her daughter’s death.”

“I do not deny that she will find the notion a difficult one. However, I am living my life, not Andromeda’s, and I must do what is right for me, and of course for Teddy.”

“You’re right about one thing,” she replied, a little smile curling the sides of her lips, and he looked sideways at her and returned the smile, allowing his face to relax. 

“I had hoped I was right about many things, but go on, do enlighten me.”

“I do love Teddy, Remus. I love that little boy with my whole heart.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But Orla, do you think you could learn to love his father also? If you are going to stay, stay for me, not for Teddy, as terrible as that sounds.”

She stared at him, and he was captivated by the incredible ice-blue of her eyes, that were so full of emotion. Slowly, she pushed up from sitting, twisted around, and knelt up before putting one leg over his, so that she seated herself on his lap, straddling him. He felt her hands slip up either side of his chest and come to rest on his shoulders, where she looked at him, her eyes roving all over his face, and then began to stroke his features with one hand – across his prematurely-lined forehead, around his eyes, down his nose and across his moustache, where he chanced a small kiss of her fingertip, awaiting her response. 

“The reason why I could not accept Seamus Finnegan’s offer to bond, was because I was already in love with you,” Orla admitted, with a deep sigh. “I kept telling myself how inappropriate that was, because you had so recently lost your wife in such terrible circumstances, but I couldn’t help the way that I felt.”

“You loved me?”

“Not loved, past tense, Remus,” she corrected. “I love you, now. But I feel like I have trapped you, since everything about our situation has changed.”

“Oh, sweet girl,” he murmured, raising his hands and sliding them up her back, touching as much of her slim spine as he could. “Oh, Orla, if I am trapped then it is self-imprisonment, for there is nowhere else I would rather be. If you will have me; and I’m aware than an old, widowed, single father with lycanthropy isn’t exactly a catch, then I am all yours.”

Evidently, there was no need for verbal confirmation, since Orla leaned forwards and placed her soft lips on his own, holding his head between her gentle hands. Remus was only too happy and eager to return it, and he was soon delivering a heavy, open-mouthed snog worthy of a Black or a Potter, the full-on kind that when they’d caught him doing thus in school, their catcalls were of pure jealousy. 

This girl! How could he have been so lucky? Lupin desired her, completely. 

If it wasn’t love, then he was well on the way, and wanted nothing more than to build a life and family with her. They had Teddy, they had Hope on the way – a ready-made family that just needed two parents who were committed to one another. If the werewolf restrictions were lifted, that means he could once again seek employment … the possibility of a bright future was now within his grasp, when just days ago it had seemed bleak and utterly helpless as they hid, concealed under a Fidelius charm for fear of their lives. 

“Your mind is elsewhere,” she teased, breaking the kiss. 

“Not at all, I promise. I was merely thinking how lucky we are, and having wonderful thoughts about our future.”

“I feel lucky too, Remus. I feel so safe with you, and it’s no mean help that I fancy you like mad, too.” 

Lupin felt his face blush, and his mouth curl into an embarrassed smirk. 

“I shall show you my response to that statement later, in our bed,” he warned. “But now, we must go and speak with Andromeda, for whilst she has no say over my future, I would not wish to cause her further pain.”

They each picked up their shoes and walked barefoot back up the beach, towards the cottage. As they neared the door, Andromeda walked out, her eyes set upon them both, looking as if she had been crying.

“Charlie and Fleur have told me everything, Remus,” she said, as she approached them, turning first to Orla. “You, young lady, are a fine example of a Hufflepuff, just as my dear daughter was. I believe that she would have been quite proud of her husband’s choice.”

Both were speechless, and Andromeda took hold of Orla’s hands. 

“My daughter was taken from me in the most dreadful way. But Remus grieving alone, becoming lonely and bitter, will not bring her back, Orla. Nor will it allow her beloved son to have a normal upbringing. Teddy needs a father who is alive and present, both mentally and physically. So, thank you, my dear, for helping him be that father, and for accepting that a piece of his heart will always belong to Nymphadora. I am quite sure that he has enough love for you both.”

She squeezed Orla’s hands before letting them go, but the brave, accepting speech must have been devastatingly hard for the recently-widowed witch to make. Nonetheless, Andromeda had done so. For himself, for Orla, and for Teddy. He enveloped his mother-in-law in a tight embrace, whispering his thanks into her ear. 

It was time to live again. 

-xxx-

The castle was empty, except for Minerva and Pomona, with whom he was now having supper with in the headmasters’ office. He had called Filius through the Floo, where the Ravenclaw Head of House had been staying after fleeing from Gringotts. Hermione had returned to Grimmauld Place to share the news of their intention to bond with Lupin, and anyone else she saw fit, for she could shout it from the rooftops if she wanted to, and Severus had no quarrel with this, whatsoever. She was collecting her belongings, and would return later that night, and if Severus had his way, Granger would never leave his presence again. 

Discussions between the four professors had been excited and plentiful. The first item on his agenda had been to renounce the headship and offer the position to Minerva, who as Albus’ deputy, should have been first in the line for the role. 

“You do not wish to be headmaster, Severus?” she had asked, surprised. 

“Not one bit. I dislike the attention,” he replied, smirking. 

“Well, I cannot say that I would not like the role, but are you sure?”

“Completely sure, Madam, although before handing over the role, I would like to make sure that you intend to keep me on staff? For starting out unemployed in our brave new world does not particularly appeal.”

The capable professor laughed out loud at his drollness, which was more of a hideous cackle, in truth, and confirmed that of course he would be retained on staff, and insisted that he stand as Deputy Headmaster, but queried what teaching position he would prefer?

“I believe that is time to retire Horace Slughorn for the second time,” Severus answered. “The man does not wish to teach any longer, and it was only upon Albus’ request that he returned at all. I would be more than happy to return to my post as Potions Master, for that is where my true passion lies.”

“But, Severus,” Flitwick squeaked up, “you applied repeatedly for the Defence position over the years. Would you not wish to stay in role? I hear that the year you taught, your instruction was effective, and the exam passes much improved on previous years.”

“And on whose orders, do you believe I applied for that job, Filius? Come on, man, use your not-inconsiderable brain. And of course, my exam results were excellent, think of the ridiculous and ineffective teachers the students had been forced to suffer in the preceding years.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled around the table, and Pomona Sprout poured some more tea. 

“I am content to resume my role as Head of Slytherin house, in addition. The students of that house will need support and understanding as they return to school, for in the beginning at least, they will be reviled, due to many of their families’ dark connections. I can assist with that.”

“Thank you, Severus. That will be perfect,” McGonagall replied. “Pomona and Filius, you are content to return for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?”

Both professors nodded in the affirmative.

“That just leaves Gryffindor, since I cannot be headmistress, and Head of House. Ah well, I suppose initially I will have to, until a replacement presents itself. New staff will need to be hired, and I need to confirm all the existing staff members.”

“As your official deputy, I have further suggestions,” Severus interjected. “I believe that a tide of change will be happening within the Ministry under Shacklebolt’s rule, and from this I would like to propose that now is the time to reinstate Lupin as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. I am reliably informed he was an excellent teacher, despite our … personal differences.”

“Excellent idea!” agreed Pomona Sprout, spraying her plate with a mouthful of crumbs from the cream scone she was eating. “I love Remus! Will you be brewing Wolfsbane for him, Severus? Should I start cultivating a good supply of aconite?”

“That is my intention, should Minerva be in agreement?”

“Oh, I am in full agreement,” the Scottish professor grinned, “and I believe that appointment solves my problem of whom to appoint as Head of Gryffindor.”

“Indeed,” he replied, feeling a wide, genuine smile spread across his face as he reached for his cup of tea, at the thought of being in direct House competition with the Gryffindor prick, once again. “Although do remember that Lupin will need family quarters, for there is an expectant wife and a blue-haired infant to accommodate.”

“Orla!” cut in Filius. “I have been at Shell Cottage with her for the last two days. An excellent girl, one of your Hufflepuffs, Pomona. Wants to be a Healer, apparently.”

“Well then, I would suggest that she moves here with her husband, completes her NEWTs on a course of private study during her pregnancy, then apprentices under Poppy Pomfrey in the infirmary when the babies are old enough for some form of childcare,” said Sprout, clearly keen to make amends for the horrendous experiences of Miss Roach over the past year, some of them whilst under her own care. 

“All agreed, you will hear no argument from me,” confirmed Minerva, scribbling copiously in a large, leather-bound book with plain parchment pages for notes. “Anything else?”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Hermione?” McGonagall replied, looking up at him in surprise.

“Yes, Minerva. She has … accepted my proposal to bond.”

The other three professors, his co-Heads of House with whom he had spent so many years working alongside, all sat agog, their mouths hanging open as if they were a trio of slack-jawed trolls. 

“You? And … Hermione Granger? The Hermione Granger?”

“Unless there are any others you know of?” he drawled, witheringly. 

“But … but what did … how did she …?”

“The story is so long, so convoluted, and most of all, so private, that it is not something I am willing to share, at present. Miss Granger and I have agreed to bond, and she will be moving into the castle alongside me. I suggest that we apprentice her also, for she would make an outstanding professor, as I am sure you will all agree. She is awaiting her NEWT results, but I have no doubt she has passed every single one with the highest of grades."

Having composed themselves, Minerva, Filius and Pomona all gave their full blessing to his request, with Minerva suggesting that she could take her through her Transfiguration mastery, and Filius opining that Hermione would make a wonderful Muggle Studies teacher, bringing her own experiences to a subject that was bound to be completely overhauled in the aftermath of the war they had fought. 

“I will ask her,” he advised. “No doubt she will be delighted with any role, but she needs to carefully consider her options. She is a formidable brain, as you all know. I consider myself the luckiest of wizards to be able to stand alongside her as fulfils every one of her dreams. We will spend tonight here, and then tomorrow Hermione and I shall spend the day moving into one of the other family quarters, releasing this office for you, Headmistress McGonagall.”

Minerva looked at him with the eye of a proud mother. Was she crying?

If she did not desist, he would have to hex her. 

-xxx-

Hermione stepped over the grate of the fireplace, into the now-familiar environs of Snape’s office, surprised to see many of his possessions packed in boxes. 

“You are leaving?” she asked. 

“Only this office,” he replied, moving across the room in a few long strides and wrapping her tightly into his embrace, littering kisses on the top of her head. 

“Tell me?” she questioned, leaning back so that she could see him. 

“In a minute,” he muttered, stealing her mouth with what appeared to be a mixture of delight and desperation, not that she was complaining. 

Severus’ kisses took her breath away, and they always had done, ever since they had both been cast under the compulsion curse. 

“I have relinquished the headship to Minerva,” he told her, in between kisses. “I shall return to teaching Potions. I believe this will give me more time with my new wife, whom I am reluctant to let out of my sight again.”

“I’ll have to leave your sight sometimes, Severus. I need to find a job, try and work out what my future is going to be. I have absolutely no idea what to do.”

He stopped his intermittent kisses, picked her up, and carried her over to one of the armchairs, where he seated her upon his lap, facing him, determined to have a sensible conversation with her before his prick started making unreasonable demands. 

Severus told her everything that had been discussed in his meeting with the other heads of house, a couple of hours earlier, enjoying watching her eyes grow wide with excitement. Hermione was just as excited about the offers to the Lupins as she was about the one to herself, and bounced around on his lap, like the enthusiastic teenager she was. 

“So, what say you, Miss Granger? Do you wish to study here, work here, and live here – with me?”

“Of course! Of course, I do! This is amazing!”

“I must warn you that I shall be preparing you very thoroughly for your Potions NEWT, girl,” he warned, arching an eyebrow. “Anything less than an Outstanding grade and I shall be severely displeased.”

“I shall look forward to working directly under you, Professor.”

Wench. 

So, this is how things were going to be?

He couldn’t wait for his new life to begin. 

Growling, he yanked her forwards and began to kiss her again, letting out a moan of pleasure as she pushed her little tongue into his mouth, searching for more, which of course he was only too happy to give her. 

Severus took hold of her hips and ground her uncouthly against his hardening cock, unable to keep his sexual desire for this witch hidden for too long, keening blissfully as she grabbed his hair, forcing him to deepen the kiss even further. 

Suddenly, she stopped kissing him, gave him a small peck on the end of his expansive nose, and then slithered from his lap, ending up kneeling on the floor, between his legs. He only had time to shoot her a questioning look before she began to unfasten his trousers. 

“Hermione …”

“Sshh. Our relationship has been about my needs, my desperation, for far too long. Let me do this for you.”

Oh, he would let her do this. 

Any-fucking-time she wanted. 

Snape gasped as she began to roll her tongue around the swollen head of his cock, and then groaned loudly as Granger slid her mouth down the entire length of him, sucking him deeply into her mouth, dragging her lips up and down over the prominent veins and deep ridges of his engorged penis. 

For nearly forty years, Severus had been alone. 

However, he thought, and it was his last coherent musing before she sent him into paroxysms of sexual madness as she delivered the most stunning blow-job he’d ever experienced, each tortuous year had been worth it, to have Hermione Granger as his prize at the end of it. 

Fuck! He loved her. 

And thus ended all rational thought, for quite a while. 

-xxx-

They were an hour into moving his belongings from the headmasters’ office into their new family quarters that were across the castle, when he received a Floo call from a George Kerrington, who introduced himself as the new Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. 

Severus accepted the call, and invited Kerrington into the headmasters’ office, where he and Hermione were currently replacing the portraits that he had hidden in the dungeons, all those months ago, and the paintings were all very excited, creating quite a hubbub of noise. 

He had to call for silence when Kerrington stepped through, carrying a large wooden box, that Severus bade him to place on the now-empty surface of the desk, for they had cleared it completely, ready for Minerva’s use. 

The new Chief Auror explained that as part of their work to restore order and justice, a team of Aurors with specialism in dark magic had gone to the Riddle House to search for anything that may prove a threat to a peaceful future for the magical world. 

They had been horrified to find several imprisoned Muggles, and Muggle-born witches there, and had combed the house, attic and cellar to ensure they rescued every single one. The Muggle women had been Obliviated and taken to Muggle hospitals, and the witches were now all in St Mungo’s, recovering and had been reunited with their families. Severus breathed a sigh of relief that the women were now all safe, but furious at what they had been forced to endure. 

Kerrington explained that many dark artefacts had been removed and destroyed, but that the contents of this box had led them to believe that it should be returned to the school. 

Severus opened the box, and Hermione gasped. 

It was full, crammed full, of wands. 

“We have reason to believe, Headmaster Snape, that these wands belonged to those who fell at the battle of Hogwarts, due to the date on the box.”

He looked on the underside of the lid, where indeed the date was etched – the second of May, 1998. 

Hermione was quicker on the uptake than even he was. 

“Accio Harry Potter’s wand!” she cast, having whipped out her own wand with lightning speed. 

A small pouch struggled its way out from underneath the pile of wands, and she caught it, pulling the string that held it together and finding broken pieces of a wand. 

“These are exactly as they were after I destroyed Harry’s wand with a rebounding blasting curse,” she told him, quietly, a desperate sadness in her voice. “He was using Draco Malfoy’s wand, that he won from him, but he kept these pieces in the hope that he would be able, at some point, to repair his own holly wand.”

Kerrington coughed. 

“Can I leave these with you, Headmaster? Minister Shacklebolt told me you would know just what to do with them.”

“Indeed, I do, Kerrington. You have my gratitude for bringing them, and I shall ensure they are treated with sensitivity.”

The Chief Auror bowed, and left the office the same way he had entered it, via the Floo connection back to the Ministry. 

“Accio Ronald Weasley’s wand.”

Hermione had cast again, and a familiar-looking chestnut wand forced its way out of the box and into her hand. 

“That was Pettigrew’s wand,” he told her. 

“It was. Ron’s own wand was taken by Snatchers, and he won this one from Wormtail when he overpowered him, when we were being held at Malfoy Manor. Its allegiance changed and it recognised Ron as its owner.”

She was still toying with the pieces of Potter’s wand, running her fingertips down the jagged wood, as if she could still feel the soul of her friend within. 

“All the owners of these wands are laid to rest here at Hogwarts, Severus.”

It was a statement, not a question, and he nodded, placing his large hands around hers as she continued. 

“We need to lay the wands to rest, lay their magic to rest also. To give these wands the respect that their owners were denied.”

“And we shall, my Hermione. Indeed, we shall.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is both a day for celebration, and reflection. We rejoice that those dark forces who sought to destroy our peaceful, tolerant society have been obliterated, but we are here to remember those who did not survive to see our triumph. We wish to honour those witches and wizards who made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure a better world for the rest of us."

The morning sun was just beginning its ascension to its highest point, promising a hot, end-of-summer day, when the first attendees started to arrive at the gates of Hogwarts castle, to be welcomed by the school staff, who were all now back in attendance ready for the new term, and by Ministry officials, all new to their roles, all keen to make this day a memorable one. 

Hermione was in the front row of the seating that had been laid all around the Whomping Willow, which had now ceased its whomping, the huge branches stilled to a mere fluttering by a charm from Professor Flitwick, making it seem much like any other tree, apart from its majestic branches, evergreen leaves and enormous, wide trunk. 

McGonagall had transported every single chair and bench from the school building to outside, but as people started to arrive in their hundreds, Hermione could see it would not be enough. Luckily, guests conjured their own chairs, sat on grassy hills around or simply floated in the air – everyone would be able to see and hear. 

The idea for the memorial service had been all Severus, the notion coming to him after her own insistence that something meaningful must be done with the wands that had been discovered, concealed in a dated wooden box at the Riddle House. He had taken the idea to Kingsley Shacklebolt, who agreed wholeheartedly, and the school was decided as the only venue that would accommodate all those who wanted to attend. 

The Ministry of Magic building could only take a finite number of people, and that many witches and wizards in Muggle London might have looked rather suspect. By holding the memorial service at Hogwarts, already under Muggle-repelling charms, they were guaranteed safety and privacy. 

Hermione had worked painstakingly to identify every single one of the wands. Many were easy, and she summoned them with a simple Accio charm, the same way she had extracted Harry and Ron’s from the box. These were labelled with a simple parchment tag tied around the wand with string, although many of them were so familiar that they didn’t need a label, for she could almost feel the magical signatures of her friends.

She had shed tears as she held Ginny’s yew wand in her hand, and even more when Neville’s cherry wand, of which he had been so proud, flew into her palm. 

As Hermione called out the names of those she knew had died that day, wand after wand came flying out of the box, to be neatly labelled. The ones that were left over, she put in her beaded bag and paid a visit to Mr Ollivander, now in retirement and continuing to convalesce at the home of his son and family, on the East coast. 

Garrick Ollivander had poured her tea and they had spent a quiet afternoon identifying the remainder of the wands, the old wandmaker providing the name of the owner, and how many years the wand had been in use. From this information, Hermione was able to deduce whether the owner had been a Hogwarts student, or an adult. 

Back at the castle, spending their first night together in the family quarters that they had chosen to make their home, Hermione sat at one of the two desks in their living room, painstakingly labelling the final wands. Four of the names given by Ollivander were identified by Severus to be Death Eaters, and he took great delight in throwing all four into the fire, poking the blaze until there was nothing left of them. 

The other wands belonged to students who were unknown to Hermione, and to an Auror who had come to assist at the battle, and perished there. Severus stood behind her, at the desk she had claimed by the window, and massaged her shoulders, seeing that she had completed her task. 

“It is done,” he observed. 

“It certainly is,” she replied, putting all the labelled wands neatly back into the box before standing, and wrapping herself in his arms. 

“I love our new chambers,” she whispered, looking around the sitting room and study area, which had doors leading off to their bedchamber, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. 

There was also a second, much smaller bedroom, that had been the reason they’d selected these quarters. Not for now, they had both said. But maybe someday. 

-xxx-

At the memorial service, the wands were given to the families of the witch or wizard to whom they had belonged, as they entered. Many held them reverently in their hands as they found themselves somewhere to sit, and expectantly waited for the occasion to begin. 

When it seemed that the castle grounds could take no more, Hagrid closed the gates and locked them, and Kingsley Shacklebolt strode to a long wooden table that had been placed to the side of the Whomping Willow. It was covered with a brightly-coloured cloth that was embroidered in red, blue, green and yellow, to represent the four houses, who were but one school. 

“Thank you for coming,” Kingsley began, his deep, rich voice heard by everyone assembled, courtesy of a Sonoros charm that enhanced and magnified his voice like a Muggle loudspeaker, but much gentler. 

“This is both a day for celebration, and reflection. We rejoice that those dark forces who sought to destroy our peaceful, tolerant society have been obliterated, but we are here to remember those who did not survive to see our triumph. We wish to honour those witches and wizards who made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure a better world for the rest of us. 

Today’s memorial service is a special occasion, held here at Hogwarts School to commemorate those who fell here, in that last, terrible battle, but we do not forget those who have gone before, those who also gave their lives, or had them taken, because they made the choice to do what was right. 

Witches and wizards, would you please raise your wands, for Albus Dumbledore, for Sirius Black, and for Alastor Moody. We remember Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Amelia Bones, Cedric Diggory, Emmeline Vance and Broderick Bode. We recognise the sacrifice of James and Lily Potter, who are gone, but never forgotten, and our thoughts remain with Frank and Alice Longbottom.”

The silence that fell across the Hogwarts grounds was absolute, not a sound could be heard as everyone in attendance raised their wands as one. The wind ruffled the leaves on the trees, emphasising the silent respect that was being paid to those who had given their lives for the cause, for the triumph they were now celebrating. 

After a minute, wands were lowered, and Hermione was gladdened to feel Severus reach over and take her hand, clutching it tightly in quiet, unwavering support. It was now time for their plans to come to fruition, and hope that their charmwork, which had been cast under the guidance of Charms master Professor Flitwick, had been successful. 

“I now invite the wand holders to come forward, as arranged,” Kingsley announced. 

An older witch and wizard, clearly husband and wife, walked through the mass of chairs to reach the covered table by the Whomping Willow. The witch had curly blonde hair, held back in a purple-flowered headband. Hermione felt her heart lurch with pain, and clutched Severus’ hand for support. 

The flowers on the woman’s headband … they were lavender. 

The couple reached the table and stood behind it, laying a beautifully carved wand on the surface, and faced out towards the audience.

“This wand,” she began, falteringly, before finding her courage, “belonged to our only daughter. Her name was Lavender Brown.”

Hermione felt the tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, her jaw hurting from the tight clench she was holding it with. 

“Lavender loved life at Hogwarts,” her father continued. “She was full of light, vivacious, and annoyingly happy.”

Her parents both smiled at the memory. 

“Lavender was taken from us, but her beautiful magic will live on at Hogwarts forever,” her mother finished, and cast the flat of her hand over the table, and over Lavender’s wand. 

The wand rose without her touching it, and Madam Brown levitated it into the air, guiding it towards the willow tree, towards its intended destination. When the wand reached the tree, it seemed to be under a spell that beckoned it home, for it appeared to cease being solid, and wrapped itself around one of the thinner branches, coiling around and around until it disappeared into the tree’s own wood. 

There were gasps from the crowd as that branch alone sprouted fragrant lavender down its length, verdant purple and giving off a sweet aroma. 

Lavender’s parents began to return to their seats, nodding at the Minister. Their job was done. Their place was taken by a small, fourth-year boy, attending alone, who laid a light brown wand upon the table, and summoned his nerve. 

“My name is Dennis Creevey,” he announced to those before him. “I am here today to remember my brother Colin, who was killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. This was his wand. Our parents cannot be here, because they’re both Muggles, and can’t see the school, but they have always supported us. I don’t have much to say, and I’m feeling a bit nervous, really, so I just want to say that Colin was a brilliant brother. The very best. I’m going to miss him more than you could ever know. Sleep well, Colin.”

Hermione’s tears fell freely as brave Dennis levitated Colin’s wand towards the willow tree, his face determined and serious. As the wand approached the trunk, it attached itself to another branch, twisting and curling around as Lavender’s had done, becoming part of the woodwork of the tree. 

She saw Lupin, seated across the aisle from her, squeeze Dennis’ arm as the boy passed to retake his seat, his eyes as red as her own. As a tall, haughty-looking woman got to her feet, holding a familiar cherry wood wand and wearing a huge hat, Hermione’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. 

No, please. No. She was not prepared for this. 

Augusta Longbottom was as straight-backed and as proper as she had ever been, but as she turned, placing Neville’s wand upon the table, her face was different. It was full of pride. 

“I represent my grandson, Neville Longbottom,” she told the crowd, her voice clear and confident. “This is his wand. Neville was an exceptionally fine young wizard, and a credit to his parents, my son Frank, and his wife, Alice, and I am privileged to be here in their stead. 

Neville lived the most difficult of lives, having parents who were not dead, but yet, not fully alive. However, I never once heard him complain. He had many friends, and astounded all with his great bravery. Like his father before him, my grandson did not cower in the face of danger, but instead met it head on, like a lion … like a true Gryffindor. The world is a poorer place without him.”

Augusta stretched out a long, thin hand, and levitated Neville’s wand towards the tree, where it was snatched up by the topmost branch, coiled around it, and a burst of cherry blossoms sprouted out of the top. 

His dignified grandmother bowed her head towards it, in a final show of respect for the boy who had fought, to the very end. 

Professor Sprout, Neville’s favourite teacher, could be heard sobbing loudly as Madam Longbottom returned to her seat. Hermione was shaking, and felt Severus slip his arm around her shoulders and kiss her wet cheek, uncaring of who saw, nor what they thought. 

The wands continued to be brought forward. One after the other … after the other. Too many. 

The grieving families continued to spill up to the table, speak about their loved one, and levitate their wands towards the willow tree, which was becoming more ethereally beautiful with every wand that it absorbed, growing all manner of fruits, flowers, leaves and blossoms to represent the woods each one had been made from. The trunk and branches were a mixture of many different shades of brown, black and grey, growing more iridescent as more wands were added. 

This would no longer be the Whomping Willow. This would be the Memorial Willow, a living reminder of the final battle, and why they must all work hard to ensure that such an event never happened again. 

More wands. More families. More bereaved parents. Too many brothers and sisters with siblings now lost to them. 

And then, the first husband. The only husband that would take the stand, in fact. 

Remus Lupin got slowly to his feet, straightening his brown cord jacket and pushing a hand through his messy blonde hair. He took a step towards the table, wand in hand, before seeming to change his mind. Was he alright?

He turned around, and gently took his sleeping son from the arms of his wife, who handed the blue-haired infant over. Hermione instantly understood. He and his son would do this together. Holding Teddy in the crook of his arm, Remus approached the table, walked around it, and laid on its surface the distinctive wand that had belonged to Tonks. 

Oh, Remus. 

Her heart was breaking for him. 

Looking older and shabbier than ever, he lifted his eyes to the crowd, although he sought comfort from Orla and Andromeda, who were seated together, holding hands. 

“This is the wand of my dear wife, Nymphadora Tonks, although if she heard me use her full name in public, is it likely that my wand would by flying up into that tree, not hers.”

A few relieved chuckles could be heard from the crowd. 

“This is our son,” he continued, looking lovingly at the slumbering baby in his arm. “This is her baby son, who, because of the madness of one man, will never know his mother. Thanks to the discovery of her wand by the Aurors, my son will at least now have a place to come and mourn her. Let us ensure, friends, that we teach our children well, so that they will teach their own children, why such an atrocity must never be allowed to happen again.”

There was a tumult of applause at Lupin’s rousing words, that did not cease as he levitated Tonks’ wand to the tree, standing with their son to watch it bed itself into the wood. It was a fitting tribute to his wild and eccentric wife, who would no doubt have been clapping along loudly with the rest. 

As he returned to his seat, he nodded at Orla, who, to Hermione’s surprise, stood and began to make her way to the front. She could see only too clearly the dark hawthorn wand that she was carrying. It was unfathomably brave of her to do this, to stand before this crowd and make the declaration she was about to. 

The Irish girl with the Malfoy-blonde hair stood trembling at the table, having laid the wand before her, as the others had done. 

“The owner of this wand is the only bearer of the Dark Mark who has been permitted to become part of this living memorial,” Orla began, to a few shocked intakes of breath that rippled around. “This wand belonged to my brother. His name was Draco Malfoy. Throughout his life, before we found one another, my brother did not have a choice. He suffered for the failings of his parents, in particular … from our father.”

She paused, and Hermione could see that she was struggling, for her hands were shaking as she touched her throat, and shook her head as if indicating that she was unable to continue. 

Remus leapt from his seat, Teddy now safely in the hands of Andromeda, and came to stand behind his new wife at the table, his arms around her, publicly declaring his love for her in the quietest of ways, supporting her through this challenge. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, inaudible to anyone except those in the front row. 

“In the last weeks and months of the war,” she continued, clearing her throat, “my brother did everything he could to escape his family, and to escape from the circle he found himself trapped in. He was captured, alongside myself. I was lucky enough to get away, but Draco was not. His final act was to bring down the snake who was essentially keeping … Voldemort … alive. He died a hero, and … and I suppose … I suppose I just would like that to be known.”

Lupin turned her around and she levitated Draco’s wand towards the willow tree, where it was accepted just as the others had been, and a large brush of rich hawthorn appeared. Orla breathed a visible sigh of relief, and allowed Remus to escort her back to where they were sitting, where they held hands, tightly. 

Severus squeezed Hermione’s arm to alert her, not that she needed it. 

It was time. 

Carrying the three broken pieces of Harry’s wand towards the front, Hermione laid them out on the table, atop the embroidered tablecloth that had been made up from the house colours of his beloved Hogwarts. 

“Harry Potter,” she began, in a calm, clear voice, “came to Hogwarts an orphan, an unloved boy with no family to call his own, no one to care. Before long, however, due to the love and support that exists in this school, and in the families whose children study here, Harry soon had mothers; in the shape of Molly Weasley, and Minerva McGonagall. He also had fathers; almost too many too list, although I shall try, found in Albus Dumbledore, in Arthur Weasley, and in Harry’s own godfather, Sirius Black. He found father-figures also in Rubeus Hagrid, Remus Lupin, and, although he never knew it, Severus Snape. 

However most of all, Harry had me, and he had Ron. We three were as close as siblings, and the very best of friends. We did everything together. Including, I should add, me breaking his wand, which you see here. I do not know how I will live the rest of my life without Harry Potter in it, but I will do my utmost to ensure that it is lived to the full, in honour of my very dearest friend, who was the bravest boy I ever knew, and I loved him for it.”

Not trusting her voice to hold any longer, Hermione cast her hand over his wand, levitating the three pieces towards the tree. To her surprise, as the tree accepted Harry’s wand the pieces appeared to repair themselves, forming for just a few seconds, his achingly familiar, complete wand again. She could not help the tears from falling as the beautiful holly wand wrapped itself around the base of the tree, a lush green holly bush with fresh red berries springing up from the place where it had settled. 

“Thank you,” she said, aloud. “For giving us all the chance to say a proper goodbye.”

Goodbye Harry, she thought. Sleep well, my friend. 

Returning to her seat with a huge feeling of relief falling over her, Hermione suddenly remembered that there was one last horror left to endure, as indicated by the none-too-quiet sobs that were following Charlie Weasley up the central aisle, his sturdy arms simply full of wands, the final ones to be added to the memorial tree. 

As the tall, red-headed man stood behind the table, his freckled face resolute, he did not put the eight wands he held down on the embroidered surface. He held them, as if he wanted just a little longer with his family, cradled safe in his arms. 

The Weasleys were a hugely popular family, and many witches of Molly’s age were crying openly, distressed at the sight of so many wands in Charlie's arms, wands that represented the tragic and wasteful deaths of an entire family. 

Charlie looked at Fleur, who was seated with her parents and sister, who had come over from France to support her. She had already agreed with Charlie that she did not want to participate in the public speaking, and therefore the task was left to him alone. Hermione had offered to do Ron’s, but Charlie did not want to separate any of his family, which she completely understood. 

“A wand of yew,” he announced, holding up Ginny’s familiar wand. “A wand that belonged to my only sister, who was killed here, aged just sixteen. No age at all, I’m sure you’ll agree. Ginny, you were a pain in the arse, little sister. But I weep for the woman you were not allowed to become, for she would have been bloody amazing.”

He placed Ginny’s wand on the table, and held up the next. 

“A wand of chestnut, that used to belong to a wicked man, but was lawfully won and recognised my youngest brother Ronald as its master. A weak, pliant wand that became strong and steadfast in the hands of its new owner. Ron, good grief you were a disgusting brother. You ate like a starving hippogriff, with much the same table manners. But I miss you, little mate. I’ll miss you forever.”

Ron’s wand was placed next to Ginny’s, and Charlie held up two wands together. 

“These are the wands of my twin brothers, Fred and George. I know many of you will know them. They turned their inherent laziness and love of pranks into a thriving business, much to my mother’s disgust. Bloody hell, their tricks were annoying. You trying growing up with identical nightmares in your house. Their wands, as you can see, are the only thing about them that was different. Fred and George would give you the robes from their backs if they thought you needed it. They were ... the very best of men."

The twins’ wands were added to the line on the table that Charlie was making. 

“This one belonged to my brother Percy, just two years younger than myself. A misguided prat, who spent most of the time up his own arse, but Merlin, we loved him for it. Sleep well, Perce.”

“This is Bill’s wand,” he choked, and a loud sob, unmistakeably Fleur’s, was heard from the crowd. “Bill was my only older brother, and my hero, which basically means my parents made all their mistakes on him, so they were well practised when they got to me. Bill’s son is yet to be born, but I promise you, mate, that Uncle Charlie will be keeping his eye on your boy. I bloody promise, alright?”

Percy and Bill’s wands were laid next to his other siblings’, and just as Hermione felt that Charlie was almost home and dry, he drew his father’s wand. 

“Arthur Weasley,” he announced, and his confident voice finally broke with a heartbreaking, choked sob. “My father. The best dad there ever was, or ever could be. How can you not be here anymore, Dad? What am I going to do without you, and your bloody plug collection?”

Charlie broke down, resting one hand on the table to support himself, waving away offers of support, indicating with his other hand that he just needed a minute. 

“And this,” he continued, once he composed himself, “this was my mother’s wand. What everyone should now know, or probably did anyway, is that you never … mess with Molly Weasley. I know I wouldn’t fucking dare.”

His coarse language made even the teary-eyed amongst the crowd smile. Nothing like an inappropriately-timed swear word to settle everyone’s nerves. 

“So, I’ll see you later, family, in the due course of time, no doubt. Charlie loves you all, you bloody mad bunch of gingers.”

He held out both of his hands, levitating all eight wands at once, his strong arms shaking with the magical power he was expending to do so. His shoulders finally slackened as the enchantment from the tree took over, and the crowd gasped as the Weasley wands were wrapped around the thick trunk, the family joined as one via their wands, forming the steadfast, solid base from which the Memorial Willow would continue to grow. 

It was a fitting tribute. 

-xxx-

The sun began to sink lower in the sky, the memorial service having taken hours, but no one had cared, in fact, no one had wanted it to end. Many people still milled around, in the shade of the memorial tree, touching its glittering trunk, smelling the different leaves and flowers that sprung from it.

Severus stood with Hermione under his arm, conversing with Lupin, who had gleefully accepted the teaching position, and several of the other returning professors. Cold drinks had circulated magically from the school kitchens, and many of the attendees had meandered down into Hogsmeade to seek refreshment, to draw breath, to commiserate and console, or to rekindle old friendships lost. 

He saw Fleur Weasley in a tight embrace with Charles, and then she kissed both his cheeks as if she were bidding him farewell. She then turned and headed towards the Apparition point with her parents and sister, and Weasley walked towards Hermione, with Finnegan alongside him, who was talking ten to the dozen as always. 

“Charlie?” Hermione questioned, walking towards him. 

“She’s going home, Hermione,” he replied, “and so am I.”

“But, I don’t understand ….?”

“Fleur is returning to France with Gabrielle and her parents, to have the baby. She needs them.”

“What about what you need?”

“I have no claim on that baby, nor on Fleur. She has promised to come and visit me, when she is ready, and if she wants to. Gabrielle will accompany her.”

“Oh, Charlie.”

“I’m going back to my dragons,” he continued. “Firestarter Finnegan here is coming with me, as we are always on the lookout for new staff who can handle the heat.”

Seamus looked incredibly excited. 

“Stay in touch, won’t you?” 

“Of course, I will. I wish you all the best in your new life. You too, Severus.”

“Thank you, Charles.”

Hermione threw her arms around Charlie, and he lifted her from the floor in a huge embrace, as he had done the first time he’d been reunited with her in Grimmauld Place. She then hugged Finnegan too, and then the two wizards bid farewell to the Lupins, Minerva, Pomona and Filius, before taking their leave.

-xxx-

Late that night, when the last person had left the school grounds, all the new and returning professors were safely ensconced in their own quarters, ready for the start of the new school term, that began in a matter of days. 

Hermione was at the window of their bedchamber, looking out over the grounds, where the willow tree that they had used as the memorial was still fizzing and sparking with magic as it absorbed the power from all the wands that had been imbued into it. 

Severus doused the wall sconces, and dropped the fire to a low burn, darkening the chamber so that she could better see the aurora of light that was spilling from the tree, across the lawns. He moved in behind her, pressing his body to hers and encircling her with his arms. 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, snuggling back against him. 

“As are you.”

“This is the first day of a new future, Severus. I feel like now I can begin to live again.”

“I can understand that, Hermione. You will never forget, but now you can allow yourself to live, to love, to feel - without guilt.”

She twisted around in his arms. 

“You know that I do love you, don’t you?”

“So I am told,” he drawled, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. “How extraordinarily fortunate I am.”

Hermione slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him towards her, pressing herself against him, running her hands over his bottom, which was bare underneath his dressing down. 

Keeping his hand on her cheek, he bent down to her, seeking her sweet mouth with his lips, that he pulled into a tugging kiss. He drew her tongue into his mouth, coiling his own around it, like a snake circling its prey. 

When she moaned in his mouth, he drew back, one eyebrow raised in question. 

“Are you compelled, Granger?” he asked, dipping his hand under her dress and finding her knickers damp, as he expected. 

“For you, Professor?” she replied. “Always.”


	46. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue – Eleven Years Later

The dragonologist and the Irish pyromaniac lasted less than a year in Romania, from the day they left, after the Hogwarts memorial service. 

Six months after William Weasley was born in France, his mother paid Charlie a visit, the chubby baby with red hair that was streaked with Veela-gold highlights sitting astride her hip as she watched him work.

“You came back,” he choked, when he finally noticed her. 

“I ‘ad to be sure, Charrrlie,” she replied.

“And now you are?”

“Oui. I am sure.”

Seamus loved working with the dragons, and could often be found trying to teach the tamer ones how to blend and control their fire, with varying degrees of success. When his mother had visited from Ireland, he’d worn a long-sleeved jumper and told her he worked in the office, doing the ledgers.

He had followed them when Charlie and Fleur returned to England, taking a job at the dragon reserve that Charlie opened in the rolling hills behind the Burrow, with a case of dragon eggs that had mysteriously gone missing from the Romanian sanctuary and a large-scale Muggle-repelling charm. Seamus also took Fleur’s sister, romancing Gabrielle with a speed that defied convention. 

The last remaining Weasley raised his brother’s son as his own. 

Seamus and Gabrielle created a separate extension to the Burrow, and started their own family. 

The current score in the crowded, joyful house that backed on to the dragon reserve was four to Charlie and Fleur, and three to Seamus and Gabrielle. 

The Burrow was filled with seven children, and with life and laughter, once again. 

-xxx-

The werewolf had lived quite blissfully within the walls of Hogwarts castle for the last eleven years, his condition managed by the ingestion of Wolfsbane, that the obliging Potions Master brewed fresh for him, every month. It still tasted like fermented dung beetles, but was worth it, considering the freedom that Wolfsbane represented. 

Each month at the full moon, he would simply turn into a harmless wolf, retaining the sanity of his own mind, and although he still felt the physical pain of transforming, it was much reduced. The most important thing was that he was no longer a danger to himself, or others. 

A couple of years after they moved in, his young wife had arrived in the study to find Teddy riding an enthusiastic wolf around the furniture, like a kind of miniature cowboy. 

The wolf had been less impressed a few years later, when Hope had tied a pink bow to his tail, and sprinkled glitter in his fur. 

Professor Lupin taught Defence Against the Dark Arts with gusto, showing the same passion for his subject and respect for his students that he first had, all those years ago. It was the castle’s worst-kept secret that he was everyone’s favourite teacher, although he always pretended he had never heard such rumours. 

The Irish girl with the look of a Malfoy was now a qualified Healer, working part-time in the school infirmary alongside Madam Pomfrey whilst raising Teddy and Hope, who had soon been joined by Harry, his sandy-blond hair and kind eyes making him his father’s double, and finally Saoirse, the only one of her children who shone as pale as herself. 

There was not one drop of lycanthropic blood between them, for of course, it was a curse that infected only the bitten. The children grew healthy and strong. Teddy had just been sorted into Hufflepuff, this last September.

Andromeda Tonks now lived in Hogsmeade, and would delightedly take any or all of the children when both parents were working, where she would indulge them with sweets from Honeydukes and furtive Butterbeers in the Three Broomsticks. 

Hope, Harry and Saoirse would play in the Hogwarts grounds as Teddy studied, the sprawling land forever a giant graveyard, but would always stop at the Memorial Willow, and place their small hands on the trunk, that continued to thrum with the magic of those who had died long before they were born. 

The werewolf had not taken long to fall madly and passionately in love with his new wife. 

Minerva had expanded their quarters to create the extra bedrooms, with a raised eyebrow and a muttered instruction to ‘control themselves’, although there was little chance of that. 

As the cycle of each full moon reached its completion, and the werewolf revealed his frantic, feral side, his wife developed a liking for his animalistic urges, and they both indulged. 

It was unlikely to be long before a fifth baby presented itself. 

-xxx-

It glittered in mid-air before them, in the cold night air, and they looked at one another. 

“Shall we?” he asked. 

The Potions Master had regained his dungeon, although now he was not trapped here, it was merely where he went to work each day, although his attitude in the classroom had not changed. 

The stern wizard was still a fierce educator, striving to get the best out of every student, insisting that nothing but perfection would do. He was still terrifying, still interminably moody but Merlin, his exam results spoke for themselves. 

The Transfiguration professor had passed her private NEWTs with a flurry of Outstanding grades, years before, after which she had opted to take an apprenticeship with McGonagall, at which she excelled, along with everything else, really. 

Professor Granger had been teaching Transfiguration for eight years now, although to him she was still the curly-haired little witch that he had deflowered, over a decade ago. He desired her as much as he did then, although now he felt no guilt. That had been washed away, bit by bit, as she reassured him of her love.

The two professors had travelled the world during school holidays, content to spend time only with each other, both thankful for every year of life that had been gifted upon them. 

“I think we should,” she answered, taking the golden quill and signing the Ministry certificate that had appeared in the air after their bonding ceremony, that they had completed at midnight in the Forbidden Forest, magically concealed from dangers or from prying eyes. 

Passing the quill to her new husband, he signed his name next to hers with a satisfied flourish, and the quill dissipated, leaving the scroll hanging in mid-air, awaiting the action that would confirm their bond, and magically send the scroll to the Ministry archives. 

“Come here, wife,” Severus instructed, in a gruff voice that puffed with a white mist in the cold night air. 

Hermione stepped towards him, and he cast a warming charm over them both, before opening the front of her cloak to reveal her nakedness. 

“Ye gods, witch, you are magnificent,” he breathed, gently backing her against the solid trunk of a huge oak tree, and smoothing his hand over her swollen belly, grown full with their child. 

Their first baby. 

His son. 

“I love you,” she replied, lifting her chin to meet his kiss, that he delivered with passion as she gasped into his mouth, as she always did. 

She opened the front of his cloak as he kissed her, seeking him out, encouraging him to press against her. As he seated himself inside her warmth, thus consummating their bond, the golden scroll rolled itself up and disappeared, but neither of them noticed. Severus continued to push his love inside her, again and again, driving them both towards the completion they sought, jumping over the edge together as they so often did. 

He, and this remarkable witch, had overcome the darkest of curses, replacing it with the brightest of lights. 

Any compulsion they now felt was purely the result of their all-consuming love.


End file.
